At the time when I had just started listening to contemporary jazz after going through the classics, Dave Douglas was one of my favorite musicians. I listened to many of his albums, including Charms of the Night Sky, which stood out for its specific chamber-like atmosphere – no drums, with the fantastic Guy Klucevsek on accordion, violinist Mark Feldman, and Greg Cohen on double bass. It wasn’t “just another Douglas album,” but also a personal discovery of a new musical world of chamber expression that doesn’t obey conventions or genres.

The first few times I listened to Garden of Silences, I immediately thought of that album. Not because I think Janinet plays like Feldman or Henriksen like Douglas – which is certainly not the case – but because it triggered a similar emotional response in me. Only today, just before writing the review, did I read the promotional text saying that the “dialogue among the four musicians was inspired by the instrumentation of Dave Douglas’s album “Charms Of The Night Sky.”

Another “emotional reference” for this album was the Tarkovsky Quartet, one of ECM’s outstanding chamber ensembles – François Couturier on piano, Anja Lechner on cello, Jean-Louis Matinier on accordion, and Jean-Marc Larché on soprano saxophone. Although the instrumentation is somewhat different, there is that chamber setting and the accordion as an important instrument, but above all that “feeling” the music evokes.

Of course, all of this is based on personal associations; and perhaps a recommendation for listeners who enjoy the above-mentioned bands. But it is important to say that violinist Clément Janinet is not a derivative musician, and his Garden of Silences has the strong potential to become a reference point for some other bands in the future. The same applies to Janinet’s very interesting body of work, where my attention was first drawn to his chamber ensemble La litanie des cimes, and later to Ornette Under the Repetitive Skies in a somewhat freer stylistic context.

On the current album, references are also made to “the legacy of Monteverdi, Buxtehude, and Dowland” – however, since I approach this album primarily from the perspective of a jazz and improvised music listener, I mention this more in an informational context. What I personally find most appealing in Janinet’s work is its highly distinctive and exciting, above all fluid character, and the way it blends jazz with chamber composition.

While Douglas is still grounded in jazz structures of themes and solos, and Tarkovsky in composition and arrangement, Clément Janinet excels in blending all these ingredients. Yes, there are „jazz moments“, composed sections, beautiful melodies, and delicate improvisations, but at no point can I clearly separate them while listening. From the very first bars of the compositions, there is a sense of “flowing over” and an imperceptible interweaving of these ideas and elements.

Instruments enter and leave the soundscape; they swell and fade; improvisations sound like the most carefully written melodies, and the sense of tempo and rhythm is highly elusive. There is no “anchor” provided by a conventional rhythm section, nor any attempt to compensate for its absence through the “reassignment” of individual instruments.

In such a constellation, there are no star players. Or rather, they are all stars. Even Arve Henriksen, whose trumpet sound can easily be recognized in a blindfold test, doesn’t „steal the show“ even when he is in the foreground and soloing. This is certainly supported by the shared sensibility of Janinet and Henriksen, but also by the bandleader’s ability to play with and maneuver the quartet’s dynamics.

Robert Lucaciu appears on my playlist for the third time this year – in a duo formation with Evi Filippou, and in Daniel Erdmann’s Thérapie de Couple, and now with Janinet – witnessing in real time the rise of a major new name in European jazz. I had not listened to Ambre Vuillermoz before, but her contribution is no less than impressive.

Clément Janinet is entering his most creative years, and it feels like each new album will be a masterpiece. I am looking forward to everything he will release in the future.

This week has been very intense for me. I haven’t written here before about my day job—the one I actually make a living from—at a small but very successful PR agency where I work with my life and business partner Monika. Just yesterday, I had on-site duties related to the Science Picnic (an event aimed at young audiences and children), an art performance/project, and the Belgrade International Architecture Week, alongside ongoing campaigns for the Museum of Contemporary Art of Vojvodina and a couple of film festivals and programs.

Since I live in the town of Pančevo (20 km from Belgrade) and drive to all these events, I sometimes spend couple of hours a day in the car—or even longer. During that time, I actively listen to music on Tidal, usually full albums from start to finish (unless they bore me, in which case I stop after a few tracks). Maybe this week I didn’t have the time to think deeply about complex jazz topics and dilemmas, but my listening certainly didn’t suffer.

New Listens

I mentioned that I met Icelandic double bassist Freysteinn at the jazzahead! trade fair, where we connected via email and messages. He sent me his material, I hit play, and the music immediately sounded good. There was a guitar in the foreground, acting as the lead solo instrument, which I really liked. I had no idea who was playing, but I simply let myself go with it. It felt like it wasn’t a “typical jazz guitar,” but rather something with a nice balance between melody and something a bit edgy in a New York Downtown way; the same could be said for the album Thoughts as a whole, which sits comfortably within a “modern creative” vocabulary while allowing for occasional departures off the rails.

Only after listening did I check the list of musicians and see that the guitar was played by Hilmar Jensson. Suddenly everything clicked—more than a couple of decades ago I really enjoyed listening to him in Jim Black’s band AlasNoAxis, as well as in his own group Tyft. I did a bit of Googling and found that I had written a review of the 2009 album Smell the Difference for a pop culture magazine. In the meantime, I had somewhat forgotten about him, so it’s great to reconnect in a new context. And I’m glad I’ve discovered Freysteinn’s body of work.

I mostly listened to Freysteinn on CD, while my favorite driving album was the new release by the Jeff Parker ETA IVtet, Happy Today, which consists of two long live pieces. This album has a really strong sense of drive, which—unsurprisingly—works very well for listening while on the road. I especially enjoyed Anna Butterss on double bass, as well as the way the music evolves through subtle variations and nuances that gradually lead into extended climaxes.

In this context, the album Misečina bila / White Moonlight by Croatian singer and composer Tamara Obrovac and her Transhistria Ensemble stands apart stylistically, though certainly not in terms of quality. This is jazz infused with elements of Istrian and Mediterranean folk music, with vocals at the forefront, supported by top-tier, fluid, melodic playing from the band: Uroš Rakovec (guitar, mandola), Fausto Beccalossi (accordion), Žiga Golob (double bass), and Krunoslav Levačić (drums). While all are outstanding individual musicians, what impresses most is how they breathe as one and move within a shared musical idea, placing the songs themselves on a pedestal.

I’ve been aware of Tamara’s excellent work in this musical space for a couple of decades now, but perhaps the right moment—or maybe just a certain listening maturity—was needed for me to fully appreciate her music. In my recent piece on AI versus human curation, I touched on how algorithms tend to push us toward the same or very similar music, whereas it’s a genuinely human and exciting experience to search for something different and step outside our own self-imposed, well-trodden paths.

I’ll also add an album that isn’t from 2026, but which I’ve only now properly taken the time to listen to. The Austrian trio HAEZZ will be performing at Studio 6 of Radio Belgrade on June 10, and I’m very happy we managed to organize their concert with the support of the Austrian Cultural Forum in Belgrade. I first saw them at the 3 Tages Jazz festival in Saalfelden, and when the opportunity arose, I was glad to take it. The band consists of Martin Eberle (trumpet), Štěpán Flagar (tenor saxophone), and Tobias Vedovelli (bass), and their music fits into the broad category of “contemporary jazz”—rooted in tradition, yet playful through the deep mutual understanding among the band members. So far, they have one self-titled album from 2024. which captures their live energy very well.

Social Media Highlight of the Week

Like most people, I scroll endlessly through social media. The algorithm feeds me a lot of garbage, but also quite a few things that genuinely interest me. That’s how I came across the beautiful concert series Into the Strings Home Session, in which brothers Theo and Valentin Ceccaldi—fantastic musicians I’m very fond of—invite other musicians to their home and record session videos in an intimate setting. In the latest episode, their guest was Thomas de Pourquery, another musician I absolutely love, so it had to be great. His style is very entertaining—a combination of 1980s-style pop vocals and serious jazz chops. At first glance, it might seem like he’s fooling around, but the music he performs is real: deeply emotional and expressive, and his voice is pure love.

Phronesis, as one of the early and most significant bands on the label, performed in Belgrade with their then very current album Alive. I received various CDs from the label’s early days.

Later, Tim stepped away from the record business, while Dave continued along a path of growing success. The Edition catalogue gradually began to bring together increasingly prominent names, combining artists like Potter, Holland, and McCaslin with emerging younger voices.

In this conversation, Dave Stapleton talks about the key milestones in the life of Edition Records, his business philosophy, the challenges facing jazz publishing today, as well as his own creative work—let us not forget that Dave is first and foremost a musician, who only recently released an album titled Quiet Fire under his own name.

Do we take what we call “music” for granted? Even if we leave behind the world of rhythm, melody, and harmony and venture, for example, into the realm of textures and walls of sound—into free improvisation—we still tend to assume some kind of framework of rules and listening expectations.

In one of my earlier texts, I wondered how “free” free jazz really is, and how much it is simply a set of improvisational conventions that keep reproducing themselves over and over again.

Can we ask the same question about music itself? Is there a meaningful, exciting, and coherent set of sounds and sonic relationships that exists not only beyond conventional notation systems, but also beyond what we consider the basis of our usual emotional and intellectual experiences tied to music—or its social and psychological role? If such a thing exists, can it take the place that “music” holds in our lives?

Cičići

A few weeks ago, I interviewed trumpeter Nikola Vuković for Jazzin.rs, who is part of the trio Cičići. The band performed on May 20 at the opening of the Ring Ring Festival in Belgrade. Since Nikola is highly experimental in his approach to the trumpet—and his sonic practice involves extensions of the instrument, tubes, balloons, and so on—we also touched on the performative aspect of his playing. That is, the inseparability of our perception of what comes out of his instrument as “sound” or “music,” and what we, as viewers, see happening on stage and around it. If I were to hear that sound only through speakers, it certainly wouldn’t be as interesting as everything I see unfolding in the concert setting.

But is this a “concert,” or rather a “performance”? Or something else entirely? If we insist on definitions, I would arrive at a broader category—“art”—which encompasses sound, music, performance, theater, and, if you like, psychology or philosophy. And that’s great.

In the opening segment of the concert, Nikola Vuković has a prepared trumpet on a table on stage—though due to the height of the stage, I couldn’t quite see in what exact ways it was altered. His “main trumpet” is connected by a tube to a pocket trumpet placed on a chair in front of the audience, in the first rows. The sound heard at the beginning of the concert resembles a mobile phone ringing somewhere in the back rows.

When saxophonists Luka Zabric and Jure Boršič join him, continuing to sculpt sonic vignettes at the edges of what we recognize as the sound of a saxophone (and wind instruments in general), the way we experience the rest of the concert can vary significantly. Of course, if you’ve been attending experimental music concerts for a long time, none of this may sound particularly new or surprising. Yet it still raises the same questions: can we imagine that “music” might be something entirely different from how we perceive it today? Can it be “reinvented” from scratch, based on entirely different postulates, relationships between sounds and frequencies?

In the first segment of the concert, Cičići establish precisely such “relations of frequencies,” which sound like a non-human language—a code perhaps used by birds, or by extraterrestrials from another galaxy. The gradual build-up toward louder sound brings us back to human settings, while the concert’s ending—where we hear more conventionally melodic segments—may be entirely unnecessary within this concept. Or perhaps it “saved the concert,” if you’re not particularly inclined toward philosophical reflections on sound when you’re expecting an emotional escape from everyday life?

Fred Frith

With Fred Frith, we encounter a kind of “total music.” As a musician who passed through the Rock in Opposition aesthetic rooted in prog rock, then through experimental band work in the 1980s and later numerous solo and duo combinations, his solo performances bring together both the estrangement of music in its conventional sense and the infusion of musicality into what might otherwise be considered sonic experiment.

Fred Frith previously performed at Ring Ring in 2005, in what became a cult performance. Many remember that he had a bowl filled with some kind of grains, which he would place on a guitar laid across his lap. He would then pour the grains from one hand to the other, over the guitar, the bowl, and so on. What’s characteristic of Frith is that he never strays too far from “music”—he always manages to bring these sonic fragments back into something familiar, something close to the emotional register we enjoy experiencing at concerts. That was the case then as well, no matter how innovative everything I saw and experienced felt at the time.

Twenty-one years and several hundred concerts later, my ears have grown accustomed to all sorts of things. As much as I was looking forward to seeing Fred Frith again in Belgrade, I also suspected it might not feel as exciting as the first time. In conversations after the concert with people who had also attended the previous one, we came to the conclusion that Frith structured his performance almost identically. He opened furiously, with his recognizable guitar bursts and vignettes that made us all fall in love with him, continued with various objects adding rhythmic or noise elements, returned to melodic segments, and once again brought out his bowl of grains. Toward the end, there were also some playful vocal passages—almost like a male counterpart to Joëlle Léandre.

This time, it all sounded far more melodic, lively, and playful to me than it did 21 years ago. A fellow journalist I spoke with after the concert had a completely different impression. I believe we were both right—and it’s fascinating how the “same” concert can evoke entirely different emotional and intellectual responses, even among experienced listeners well attuned to avant-garde music. My own focus shifted from the intellectual to the emotional during the performance; still, I have to say that I take great joy in exchanging impressions afterward, in that diversity of reactions to what we’ve all seen and heard.

Jasna Jovićević & Predrag Okiljević

On the second evening of Ring Ring, I attended a concert that was not only clearly music-oriented, but undeniably “jazz.” Yet at a mainstream festival, it would most likely have been labeled as an “off” or “late-night” program. Once again, context shapes perception—you can watch the same concert after a set of oddballs squeaking and screeching on their instruments, or after a traditional big band playing swing.

At Ring Ring, the context framed this as gentle music—two musicians who fully command the language of jazz composition, arrangement, and free improvisation. Over the past fifteen years, Jasna Jovićević has launched a number of compelling projects, from the chamber jazz-oriented quintet Quinary to classic free and improvised trios, so it didn’t surprise me to see her explore this atypical sax duo format. Predrag Okiljević has previously shone in bands like Dragon’s Fuel and Palm (in the spirit of the British neo post-jazz-rock school), as well as in various trio formations with a clearer free jazz orientation.

When I first heard they had formed a duo, I assumed it would be a brutal free improvisation project. As much as I enjoy both of them as highly engaging improvisers, I was equally glad to be proven wrong—this is music grounded in composition (and in written scores, placed on music stands).

At moments, I could hear echoes of The Tiptons or John Lurie—points of reference within my own listening framework. What I found particularly interesting was how certain conventions of well-known jazz quartets were translated into this micro-format, yet still sounded rich and full. At the same time, Jovićević and Okiljević have distinct improvisational styles—Jasna often shines in the higher registers on soprano and alto, while Predrag on tenor acts as a kind of counterweight and balance.

In that sense, their collaboration is a perfect match—both share that refined sense that even the wildest free improvisation should retain something melodic; that in the subtle flow between composition and improvisation, a certain kind of magic is born.

Although I had been familiar with the work of accordionist Jovan Pavlović for quite some time, our first direct exchange came last year, when he performed in Serbia on several occasions: first in a solo setting with special guest Bojan Z on piano, and later, toward the end of the year, with the Big Band RTS. We agreed to do a long-form interview tracing his personal and musical journey—from Serbia to Norway, where he now lives and works—with a particular focus on his major concert with the national jazz orchestra.

Earlier this year, when the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra released Spiti/Home, I noticed that Pavlović appears on the album as well. As a whole, the record departs from what we have come to expect from TJO in recent years, yet it is equally important to note that this Norwegian ensemble has consistently pushed the boundaries of its expression. Here, their orchestration intersects with the musical traditions of various European regions, from Greece to the far north of the continent, with a leading role taken by vocalist Marianna Sangita Angeletaki Røe.

Since I was pleased with the interview I did for Jazzin.rs, I thought it would be worthwhile to prepare an updated English version for Eurojazzist. I have slightly reorganized the material, omitted certain sections, and added several new questions focusing on Pavlović’s work with the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra, with whom he first performed more than a decade ago.

In Serbia, during the 1980s and 1990s, the accordion was mostly associated with folk music, or with classical music within the educational system. Where did your interest in jazz accordion come from?

Honestly, I don’t know. I was fascinated by the very idea that someone could improvise at all. Until I was 18 and moved to Norway, I didn’t even know what the word improvisation meant. Now I see that many mature musicians still don’t understand how long that process of learning and exploration is, before you can reach a point where you feel free and able to improvise on stage.

I went to Norway to study classical music. If you go to Wikipedia, you’ll see it says I’m a jazz musician, but that’s not true. I’ve never felt like a jazz musician, even though I mainly collaborate with musicians rooted in jazz. I’m a musician who plays rhythmic music and is comfortable with improvisation. In fact, improvisation definitely makes up more than 50% of what a listener hears at my concerts or on my albums.

After Serbia in the 1990s under sanctions, how big was the cultural shock of moving to Norway? Were your first steps difficult, and how much did what you found at the conservatory differ from your expectations and prior knowledge?

During the worst period of inflation, war, and embargo, I realized I wouldn’t go to Russia as I had originally planned, and with great support from my parents I went to Norway to study classical accordion. Before that, I had passed the entrance exam, and everything was set for me to become a Scandinavian master of classical accordion. And then something happened that completely changed the course of my musical path. I was assigned an older-generation professor who hadn’t followed developments in classical accordion since 1978. Even though he knew I had been playing a very demanding classical repertoire, he asked me to start playing polkas. That was a big shock for me, but at the same time I didn’t dare complain. It would have come across as, “look at him, he just arrived and he’s already complaining.”

Slowly I started slipping into depression and seeing my future as completely uncertain. In one of those moments, in the conservatory cafeteria, I met Mats Eilertsen, who explained that he was studying jazz at the same conservatory, but that their classes took place across the street. At that moment I had no idea that someone could even study jazz. Completely confused, I agreed to go with him to a jam session they were having in their building.

I was in huge shock when I saw how many young people played jazz so well. Mats, who later became one of my best friends here, encouraged me to start listening to jazz. And once I learned at least one standard, I could play with him. That’s when I learned “Billie’s Bounce” and started to “improvise” a little for the first time.

In the meantime, I met Stian Carstensen, one of the best multi-instrumentalists of today, who plays the accordion incredibly well. Not only that, but he plays Romanian and Bulgarian folk music just as well as jazz. He inspired me a lot, and from then on I seriously began studying both jazz and folk music at the same time.

Which jazz accordionists inspired you?

Everything I know about jazz and all the music I started listening to began in Norway. Yes, that’s relatively late, but from then on I was immersed in music all day, and sometimes all night. I listened to Art Van Damme and Frank Marocco, but I soon realized that if I wanted to develop my own style, I had to detach myself from accordionists.

A common problem with accordionists who want to deal with improvisation/jazz is that they often listen only to other accordionists. That’s where limitations arise, and it’s easy to recognize who hasn’t gone deep into the essence of the music, but has only copied something that’s already been played. I really listened to all kinds of things, but probably the most to Keith Jarrett, whom I still listen to often. Of course, I went through the entire history of jazz, but also the folk music of various cultures. Ethno music or ethno fusion still interests me today, of course when it’s done well and thoughtfully.

In the 1990s, Norway was home to some of the most innovative jazz musicians of the time, quite far removed from what we know as the bop tradition. In 1997, Nils Petter Molvær released “Khmer,” Bugge Wesseltoft released “New Conception of Jazz,” Sidsel Endresen entered her more experimental phase, and so on. How did you perceive these musicians and tendencies on the local jazz scene?

To be honest, at the time they were too avant-garde for me. Of course, now I understand how innovative they were and still are. If you live in Norway and collaborate with Norwegian musicians, it’s natural that over time you absorb parts of their aesthetic. That’s why I think my life here has shaped my musical expression just as much as growing up in Yugoslavia. I really like that sense of musical freedom that musicians in Norway have, partly because there is significant investment in culture, but also because they’re not afraid to try something new, even though they know it’s not 100% certain it will be accepted as a success.

Given that in the late 1990s and early 2000s “world music” as a genre and concept was on the rise, was there an expectation for you to fit into certain patterns associated with “an accordionist from Serbia”?

Ah, well, I did play for a while with trumpeter Marko Marković. I also played with Džambo Aguševi from Macedonia. It was nice—both of them are great players. Brass music is popular here because of Emir Kusturica and Goran Bregović, although much less so today than before. I never followed those patterns; I always tried to add something of my own, no matter what music I was playing. That’s something that’s followed me all these years—I didn’t want to play like others, regardless of whether that was the right decision or not.

What was your personal relationship to what was a trend in global music based on ethno motifs, in the context of your own thinking about jazz?

Everything that becomes a major trend in music at one moment eventually becomes something people grow tired of. The problem, of course, arises when everyone wants to build a musical career by playing something that has already been played, but is very popular at that moment. In the end, that turns out to be a completely wrong move and has a very negative impact on the development of music.

Think of Buena Vista Social Club. They were so popular, they created such a boom that afterward many “musicians” with any kind of ethnic background from Central and South America started, with their newly formed bands, playing covers of their music. A similar thing happens with trumpeters—they play the same or very similar repertoire that audiences here are already quite saturated with.

My goal all along was not to be a copy, and everything else is a process of going into the unknown and seeing what happens.

It wasn’t until 2017 that you released your first album under your own name. A bit later came “Life on Accordion.” Did you simply not have time due to numerous engagements, or did you consciously wait for your personal artistic voice to “mature” over about twenty years of a very active recording and performing career?

With my trio, I released two albums: Refleks and Bonfire. Refleks was with a classical octet from northern Norway, and Bonfire was with Ahmad Al Khatib, one of the most renowned Arab oud players.

Yes, for a long time I didn’t dare release anything under my own name. I think the real turning point came when I created the solo album/project Life on Accordion, with which I toured worldwide over the past two years. I gave lectures on improvisation at universities in Buenos Aires and Chile, played at many jazz festivals across Europe. I started performing at accordion festivals and suddenly re-entered the accordion world after so many years of “absence.”

We come to your work with the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra. The immediate occasion is this year’s album by Trondheim Jazz Orchestra & Marianna Sangita Angeletaki Røe titled Spiti/Home, on which you also play. But that wasn’t your first album with TJO—you had previously played on Marius Neset’s project documented on the 2014 album “Lion”?

This project was unique—although all TJO projects are unique—in that Marius’s music is among the most rhythmically complex music I’ve ever heard. Marius studied in Copenhagen, which is why it sounds so “non-Norwegian.”

What were the expectations of you as an accordionist in this context?

The accordion in this project was just as important as all the other instruments. Marius loves the accordion, and I was very honored when he chose me to play with the orchestra.

When the project gained attention, it became very popular, but I remember the first rehearsal when he brought in the scores—we literally couldn’t put it together. It was so complex, demanding, and difficult that we all looked at each other and realized we had a lot of practicing to do. I practiced for days at a slow tempo just to understand what was going on. After a year, we released the album “Lion,” recorded in Copenhagen, which won a „Norwegian Grammy“.

For me, it was an incredible experience performing this project at Ronnie Scott’s in London, as well as at the North Sea Jazz Festival and at nearly all major festivals across Europe.

In what way did TJO expand your musical horizons?

When you work with top-level musicians and find yourself far outside your comfort zone at the beginning of a collaboration, it changes your mindset. You’re forced to give your best and, as an equal member of such a large orchestra, do everything in your power to make it sound as good as possible, while constantly thinking about how important it is for you, as a soloist, to leave your personal signature, both live and on the album.

On the current album, Marianna Sangita is in focus, but you are also part of the ensemble, which performed at jazzahead! back in 2024 and then toured internationally for two years before the album itself. How did the work on this project unfold?

Marianna has a background in Greek folk music, but also in bands such as Broen and Gurls. Still, in this project the main focus is on melodies with a strong folk element. I love folk music, but I no longer like playing it in a traditional way; instead, I prefer a way that allows me, as a performer, to take the music somewhere else, somewhere unexpected.

What was particularly interesting to you in this context, not only regarding your role but also more broadly in terms of compositions and arrangements?

The process of rehearsing the compositions itself was interesting, probably because we all come from quite different musical backgrounds. We worked a lot together on the arrangements, as a band. We tried out different ideas and searched for a common language for the whole ensemble. That’s not easy at all—it requires a great deal of dedication and openness to collaboration. Throughout, I tried to find a middle ground, where I would constantly add a kind of ethno “flavor,” but just enough for it to be felt. My main idea was that, in the sections where I improvise, I move away from tradition, but in a way that still sounds natural and interesting.

Last year you performed in Belgrade with Bojan Z, as well as with the Big Band RTS – the national jazz orchestra of Serbia. Do you have a desire to connect more with the Serbian jazz scene, or with musicians from this region in the diaspora?

By nature, I’m very curious and interested in many things, but perhaps most of all in what I don’t know. I learned a lot from Bojan, because in his mindset he’s similar to me—always learning and always wanting to try something new. Of course, I’d like to play with anyone who is good at what they do. There are many talented musicians here, but there are also many musicians from our region living abroad whom people in Serbia haven’t even heard of.

It’s already certain that I’ll be recording an album with Romanian multi-instrumentalist and mega cimbalom star Marius Preda. We’ll probably invite some guests, and it’s not impossible that Bojan will be one of them.

I’ve always been drawn to an eclectic approach to jazz—the kind where seemingly incompatible genres meet and collide. Ever since we’ve reached “the end of history” within jazz, postmodern concepts over the past 20–25 years have often relied on a certain degree of irony toward genres that are more commercially successful than jazz. If there’s a beautiful pop melody, a 21st-century jazz musician will often “deconstruct” it. If there’s a rock rhythm, there has to be some crazy break thrown in, or the rhythm section and the front line will be placed in stark contrast—and so on in that vein.

But there is also a number of musicians who have managed to organically transcend this “gap” between genres. If we scratch beneath the surface—which often depends more on perception and the narratives created by the public—it becomes clear that every genre, no matter how commercial, carries within it, at its peak, anthology-worthy, artistically challenging melodies and compositions. There’s also a growing discourse suggesting that generations who came of age in the 21st century are less burdened by genre distinctions than those of us who grew up in the ’80s and ’90s—and that is certainly a good thing.

The octet I’m Not Done Cooking, led by French pianist Lara Humbert, who lives and works in Brussels, is a wonderful example of eclectic music that approaches each of its (possible) genre labels with love, respect, and genuine authorial enthusiasm. The promotional materials mention “elements of pop, classical music, and experimental jazz” as key references, which certainly makes sense—but only as a starting point for exploring the layered and imaginative musical journey offered by this cleverly named octet.

Lara Humbert can first and foremost be regarded as an accomplished composer and arranger. This doesn’t mean that the band’s solo contributions are of lesser value, but rather points to a particular mindset—one that ultimately shapes what we perceive as the album’s overall mood.

In practice, this means that the compositions themselves are built patiently and in layers. They have their own dramaturgy—an exposition of the theme or core musical idea, moments of culmination, and resolution—that doesn’t necessarily follow conventional jazz logic.

At the same time, a similar sensibility emerges when listening to the album as a whole, where I also had the impression that the tracks are sequenced in this order for a clear reason. I’m not referring to the logic of conceptual albums that follow a written narrative, but rather to what I experienced here as an internal musical logic.

An eight-piece band is, of course, defined by its musicians; personally, I found the dynamic between Lara Humbert and guitarist Raphaël Desmarets particularly compelling. As evident as their jazz credentials are, the sonic universe they create often reminded me of the finest moments of ’70s and ’80s pop and rock—somewhere in an abstract space where Pink Floyd, Queen, and Elton John might meet, only to be joined by an ’80s-era Fred Frith with his adventurous albums. Also, I would single out violinist Amèle Metlini as the octet’s standout instrumental voice. But to reiterate—this is not an album of instrumental feats, but of purely musical achievements, shaped by the precise and delicately elaborated artistic vision of Lara Humbert.

In that sense, the nearly 10-minute composition “Dreamland” is quite paradigmatic, carrying a touch of the playful spirit of Flat Earth Society. There’s also the orchestrally lush “Da Zone,” the dynamic “La Fusée” (which the composer cites as inspired by Knower, Meshell Ndegeocello, Saya Gray, and Bill Frisell), and the warm, lyrical “Jouvenet,” which closes the album. Speaking of the album’s distinctive “warmth,” I especially appreciated the way the bass and drums were recorded—soft, without any artificial punch, almost as if they were tailored for vinyl listening. So far, I’ve listened to the album in digital and CD formats, but I have a feeling the vinyl experience would be an even better fit.

The album title, beginning with “Tome 1,” suggests that there may well be a second, a third, and so on. Whatever future installments may be called, I’ll be looking forward to them.

Musicians:

• Lara Humbert – piano, compositions, arrangements

• Alejandra Borzyk – tenor saxophone

• Lúcia Pires – flute

• Amèle Metlini – violin

• Adrien Lambinet – trombone

• Matteo Mazzù – e. bass

• Raphaël Desmarets – e. guitar

• Gaspard Sicx – drums, vibraphone

Ever since I’ve been involved in journalism, I’ve always preferred the written form—reviews, long-form essays, and so on. At the same time, I’m fully aware that we’ve already stepped deep into a new era dominated by vertical video. As an introvert, I still resist becoming a “talking head” delivering something to the camera in under a minute, but I’m aware that moment is getting closer.

Many smart people have already written about this, and I don’t have much to add. Everything that applies to jazz musicians and the ongoing discussions about how to balance what you actually do (music) with how you need to present yourself (through dozens or hundreds of short videos documenting your creative process) can just as easily be applied to jazz journalism. Those who have already worked in radio and television probably find it easier, but most jazz critics come from the world of written web journalism or the blogosphere. The older generation comes from the tradition of print media.

All of us should be aware that we are in the midst of one of the biggest transitions in how we do our work. The first major shift in the past 30 years was the move to the internet; the next was mastering the language of social media in general; and this latest one is the transition to short-form video. Just as we once regularly posted on Facebook and shared links, we are now expected to regularly address our followers in a video format that doesn’t scream promotion, but instead follows a “behind the scenes” and “personal” logic.

There’s also an additional twist here. While we once used Facebook as a tool to drive people to a website, today the entire world of social media functions as a fully independent channel with its own logic and metrics. Musicians face their own set of challenges—whether Instagram/TikTok fans will convert into concertgoers or music buyers. For journalists, the question is how many people from social media will actually click through to a text if they’ve already liked that same text on social platforms.

I recently had a situation where a musician shared my album review on Facebook and received something around 80 likes. The analytics showed that around 10 people actually clicked through to read the text from Facebook. Most people liked the fact that the musician had a review out, but weren’t interested in actually reading it. This isn’t a critique of those people, who manage their free time and interests as best they can—it’s simply a factual situation.

On Instagram, the situation is even clearer. For a post about an interview on Eurojazzist, I recently got around 300–400 likes. I created a nice visual with the artist and added 2–3 quotes in a carousel. In the caption, as always, I wrote that the full interview could be read on eurojazzist.com. I also added a link in the story. For this highly liked post and story combined, I ended up with a total of 3 clicks (from Instagram) to the actual article on the site.

In that sense, Substack—with its newsletter system—is a dream solution to this journalistic problem, because it bypasses algorithmic traps and reliably delivers the text to interested readers who have voluntarily shared their email address and placed their trust in the author. But it’s not the only solution.

Old metrics are outdated. Our real reach is a combination of all these platforms. The solution to this journalistic challenge is clearly in diversifying the platforms through which we communicate. A significant expansion of this field of engagement is the “talking head video,” in whatever format. That can include YouTube, but there you need full professional video production to be competitive. For a good Instagram video, it’s enough to turn on the selfie camera on your smartphone (ideally in portrait mode), use a cheap tripod from Temu, and a solid mic system that can be bought for 70–80 euros. Of course, you can invest more, but it’s not necessary to have a full professional kit worth several thousand euros or dollars and an entire production team.

Let’s build a community

A few days ago, I published my first audio interview with Matti Nives from We Jazz Records. The full audio is below, and I invite you to listen if you haven’t already. Matti is a great guy, and I really like his DIY approach to publishing and the genuine love for music that comes through in the conversation. At the same time, I recorded the entire conversation on my smartphone with Matti in the foreground, and then cut it into segments to share on Instagram. A 45-second video in which Matti talks about Spotify and major labels reached 14,500 views in just a few days, along with dozens of story shares and reposts. I also published a few more videos where he talks about his label philosophy and relationships with other labels, which also gathered several thousand views and plenty of positive reactions.

The fact that only a small percentage of those people will listen to the full podcast shouldn’t be seen as a sad lament about the collapse of journalism and its audience. It simply tells us about the diversification of audiences and their interests—not in terms of content, but in terms of format. Some will listen to the podcast, others will watch three short videos. In just 3–4 days, the young Eurojazzist Instagram profile gained around 150 new followers, who will then encounter more interesting content on Instagram, the website, and beyond.

Just as we increasingly talk about “ecosystems” and “communities” in today’s independent jazz publishing, the same applies to jazz journalism. Media outlets and journalists are no longer—and should no longer be—just authors and publishers of texts for passive consumption. The relationship between authors, readers, and viewers is becoming more layered and complex. Success—whatever that may mean—will no longer necessarily be reflected in large numbers on any particular platform, but rather in the depth and the ability to build a diversified “ecosystem” that offers different niche audiences what they need, without sacrificing the authorial quality of the journalist.

What’s Next for Eurojazzist

In that sense, I’ll try to push things further myself. The next step is a video interview with Dave Stapleton, founder and head of Edition Records, now one of the most important independent labels in the jazz world. Alongside major names such as Chris Potter, Dave Holland, Donny McCaslin, and Miho Hazama—whom I’ve already interviewed—the label also releases numerous talented artists like Fergus McCreadie, Joe Webb, and Sun-Mi Hong. For the first time, I used the Substack Recording Studio feature, which will prove very practical in video editing. The interview will be published in 10–15 days, and of course I’ll share a few interesting clips on Instagram for fans of short-form content.

Now that my face is already appearing in that video, it’s probably time to relax about that as well, so I’ll soon start recording a talking head format for Instagram. Maybe in a few days, maybe in a few weeks—but it’s coming. It’s around the corner.

As for traditional written content, an interview is coming up with Serbian accordionist Jovan Pavlović, who has been living and working in Norway for years, where he has performed with Marius Neset and other major figures of the local scene, especially the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra. I’m also preparing a review of the album Tome 1: Beauty and the Queen by the group I’m Not Done Cooking, led by the young pianist Lara Humbert, whose work I recently discovered at jazzahead.

For Radio Belgrade, I’m preparing two shows featuring Miles Davis concerts in Belgrade from the early 1970s. Both are fascinating documents of that phase of Miles’s career, but also of the live jazz scene in Serbia at the time. I’m not sure I’ll manage to write a longer piece about it, but it’s definitely something I’m thinking about, especially in the context of the Miles Davis centennial.

New listens

I first met accordionist Vojta Drnek four years ago at the excellent Jazz Goes To Town festival in the Czech city of Hradec Králové. The program curator is saxophonist Michal Wróblewski, and Vojta was part of the festival team, in charge of media relations. We stayed in touch, and I’ve continued to follow his musical work, which gave me the chance to hear his first solo accordion album Lost Wisdom.

The key PR line reads: The album was recorded inside Reservoir No. 3 of the monumental Water Tanks at Žlutý kopec in Brno, a space with nearly one minute of natural reverberation. Drnek’s meditative pieces thus take on a kind of psychedelic quality, almost as if we’ve stepped into a dream world—or somewhere between waking and dreaming. I liked the album, and I’ll be glad if I get the chance to see him perform live somewhere in Europe—and I hope he’ll successfully solve the “reverb thing” in more conventional concert spaces as well.

The other album I’ve been playing a lot this week is Laurie Anderson with Sexmob - Let X=X. I’ve been a big fan of Sexmob for a couple of decades, while I’ve only listened to Anderson sporadically, usually in other people’s homes. Although I’ve always had great respect for her work, my focus was simply elsewhere. Now felt like the perfect moment to give her more attention, thanks to this collaboration, which works beautifully. The music is very fluid and serves the narrative—the way Laurie Anderson guides the listener through her repertoire is truly wonderful. This live album feels deeply alive and huma, warm and emotional. Thank you, Laurie; thank you, Steven, and the whole crew.

Jazz Across Europe

The Ljubljana Jazz Festival in Slovenia recently announced its program. Given my personal ties to Slovenia—and the fact that it’s time for a short getaway—I’ll be attending a few days of the festival. The headline names are Pat Metheny and Dee Dee Bridgewater, but my personal festival highlights are Aki Takase, Patricia Brennan, and Sun-Mi Hong. You can check out the full program HERE, and I’ll definitely return to it in another piece before the event itself.

After catching everything I’m interested in in Ljubljana on July 2 and 3, the next stop is Pula, Croatia, where Marc Ribot will perform on July 4 with his Ceramic Dog lineup, which hardly needs an introduction. I’ve seen Ribot live many times and will continue to do so whenever I can across Europe. In my opinion, Marc Ribot is the greatest guitarist of all time—regardless of genre or era. Although I usually avoid grand statements about musicians, I’m completely certain about this one.

We Jazz Records is one of the most exciting labels in jazz today. Among my favorite musicians from this label are Linda Fredriksson, Goran Kajfeš, Cosmic Ear, Uusi Aika, Superposition, Joona Toivanen Trio, Gard Nilssen, Koma Saxo, AINON, Pauly Lyytinen, Lampen, and others. Some I was familiar with from before, while others I discovered after I grew fond of the label and started following their releases. There are also some American names, such as Amirtha Kidambi, or more recently Booker Stardrum from the increasingly beloved SML. You can also check out the complete catalog on the We Jazz Bandcamp page.

What I additionally like is that it is actually a “We Jazz universe,” which includes two festivals in Helsinki (We Jazz Festival and Odysseus Festival), the printed We Jazz magazine, a record store, and a booking division. Behind the whole story stands Matti Nives, a genuine music lover and jazz enthusiast rooted in DIY culture, whom we know today as the founder of this house and its artistic director. As a person with many talents and interests, he has successfully brought together all these elements into a sustainable jazz business that continues to grow and reach new heights.

We have been corresponding since February this year, when I launched Eurojazzist, with the general idea of doing an interview. I sent him the (too many) questions by email, but after some time we concluded that we could also carry out the whole thing live at jazzahead! in April. As I had meanwhile also purchased new audio recording equipment, this was an opportunity to test it for the first time in “real life.” In that regard, we faced the challenge of the (non)existence of an adequate private space at the event itself, so in the press room we were surrounded by the noise of people coming and going: I managed to smooth most of it out with software, but please don’t mind if you still occasionally hear a murmur of voices behind Matti’s speech—it has been reduced as much as possible.

“Can you recommend some Serbian jazz for me?”

Since launching Eurojazzist, I’ve encountered variations of this question on several occasions. It’s perfectly natural: jazz listeners abroad don’t have enough information about music coming from this region, and simply don’t have the time to explore every possible scene in every country. On the other hand, I’ve been following the Serbian jazz scene very closely for the past couple of decades, and even longer.

It’s not easy for me to answer this question briefly. Recently, I threw out a few names that first came to mind—and quickly bit my tongue. It wasn’t fair, because I instinctively reached for the avant-garde artists I personally prefer, but the Serbian jazz scene is diverse, and someone else might be drawn to something stylistically different, yet equally valuable.

It’s also worth noting that it’s not easy to define what exactly the “Serbian jazz scene” is, since many musicians live and work abroad. They are, at the same time, part of other, more developed scenes. There’s no need to explain who Bojan Z is—a pianist who has been named Jazz Musician of the Year in France and is an established name in European jazz. Jelena Kuljić has a strong career in Europe, especially with the band KUU!. Double bassist Nenad Vasilić has lived and worked in Austria for nearly three decades. Also, drummer Vladimir Kostadinović… And so on. They have easier access to international markets and media, so I prefer to focus here on those who live and work in Serbia.

I don’t claim to present any kind of objective selection that would evenly represent all subgenres and generations. What I consider essential Serbian jazz records from the past 15 years might seem like a misguided choice to someone else from my country. I will certainly leave out some popular and very high-quality jazz musicians and bands whose music simply isn’t to my taste. Fortunately, I’m not the only jazz journalist in Serbia (though there aren’t many of us), and others will offer different selections. We’re all different, and there’s nothing personal about it beyond personal musical preferences.

*Each album title is also a hyperlink to the full album. The albums are listed strictly in chronological order, without implying any qualitative ranking.

Eyot – Drifters (Neuklang Records, 2013)

The music of this quartet blends neo-fusion and contemporary jazz in the vein of British bands like GoGo Penguin, Mammal Hands, Get The Blessing, and others, while also incorporating odd meters and melodic traits characteristic of the Balkan region. The focus is firmly on the band and their tight, cohesive interplay, with an emphasis on the compositions themselves. Pianist Dejan Ilijić is the frontman and principal composer, seamlessly and organically weaving these local influences into a global jazz language, occasionally breaking away into extended solo excursions. I’ve chosen their second album Drifters, recorded and released in Germany, as a reference point—particularly the tracks “Coils,” with its beautifully layered compact structure, and “Drifters,” which served for years as a concert highlight, where Ilijić drives the music toward a powerful crescendo.

Szilárd Mezei Septet – Polar (Not Two Records, 2015)

I’ve mentioned Szilárd Mezei several times before; he is probably the musician from this region who has received the strongest international media attention among Serbian artists—appearing in DownBeat reviews and occasionally in rising star polls. He is a highly serious and dedicated composer—composition is central to his work, even when combined with free and avant-garde jazz forms, as well as Hungarian musical heritage. Given that he has been releasing at least two or three albums per year since the early 2000s (often more), it’s difficult to single out just one. I opened my folder of his digital releases and picked one that used to be among my favorites—but many others are equally worth exploring. A representative track, showcasing his compositional ideas, is the title piece:

Jasna Jovićević Sextet – Flow Vertical (FMR Records, 2018)

I’ve already written about Jasna Jovićević in the context of her recent album. It’s important to note that she also performs in more traditional free jazz trios, freer improvisational settings, and collaborates with musicians from the Austrian and broader European jazz scenes. Still, I see her ensemble “Quinary”—and the sextet that preceded it—as the most representative of her work, where she merges avant-garde, chamber jazz, and Indian spiritual concepts connected to her yoga practice. Flow Vertical was the first such album, where Jovićević plays spacedrum alongside saxophones and also sings.

A standout track is “Rum Runs Through The Veins,” which brings all these elements together: it begins with an extended saxophone intro and gradually unfolds into new directions around the third or fourth minute.

Majamisty Trio – Organic (Mistyland, 2020)

When it comes to the classic piano trio format with Scandinavian influences (from Tord Gustavsen to E.S.T.), I would highlight Maja Alvanović. The lineup has changed over the years, with various guest musicians, but in my view the band reached its peak on Organic, featuring double bassist Ervin Malina (excellent with the bow) and drummer Lav Kovač, a younger-generation musician who will appear again later in this list. Alvanović comes from a classical background, which proves to be a strong match with a seasoned jazz rhythm section. Without insisting on extended piano solos, she allows space for subtle nuances and interaction among all three players.

The definitive track here is “Jungle”:

Uroš Spasojević – Winter Tales (Self-released, 2020)

Bass guitarist Uroš Spasojević is something of a micro-phenomenon on the Serbian scene. He lives in the small town of Valjevo and releases a large number of albums independently, often as the sole musician or in small formats. He is deeply influenced by ECM—an important aspect of his musical identity—whether through figures like Eberhard Weber, John Surman (especially in his approach to the one-man concept), or artists from ECM’s New Series. He releases albums of varying sensibilities, but I prefer him most in a fully solo setting. In that sense, Winter Tales is an excellent example, with the track “Sea” standing out:

Fish In Oil – Basamak (Gramofon, 2022)

Bandleader Bratislav Radovanović is a guitarist strongly influenced by Marc Ribot—and he makes no attempt to hide it. He also openly cites John Zorn’s Electric Masada as a major influence. During the band’s most prolific recording phase, the lineup included musicians from diverse backgrounds, giving their sound a breadth and a distinct vibe compared to the New York downtown scene—yet still within a stylistic eclecticism that touches on Nino Rota’s film music, the Latin-inflected sound of Ry Cooder, and more. After the passing of the legendary Serbian percussionist Papa Nick and the departure of longtime saxophonist Dušan Petrović, the band began exploring new lineups and directions. Their last album with that earlier lineup—and in many ways its culmination—was Basamak. A key track is “Opšta mobilizacija”:

Schime – Ursa Major (Sekvoja, 2023)

For much of the 21st century, Serbia lacked a strong mainstream jazz band rooted in the post-bop tradition. That changed with the emergence of a core group of musicians around saxophonist Luka Ignjatović and drummer Peđa Milutinović—two technically accomplished artists with fresh ideas within the jazz idiom. Schime has also gone through several lineup changes before settling into a quartet with double bassist Boris Šainović and pianist Sava Miletić. They also released an excellent album with the chamber orchestra Muzikon and performed at the prestigious Moers Festival in Germany. Still, my choice falls on their stripped-down quartet and the album Ursa Major, where they reach a level of maturity and mutual understanding necessary for this kind of ensemble to truly breathe.

There are several standout tracks, but for this occasion I’ll highlight “Dawn Tranquility.” A note: Schime tend to start their pieces slowly and gradually build toward climaxes. Ideally, listen from the beginning and let it unfold—but if you must skip ahead, try starting around the third or fourth minute for a quick impression.

Marina Džukljev, Aleksandar Škorić, Horz Music

This concludes an overview of some of my favorite Serbian jazz albums of the 21st century. Each of the above-mentioned musicians has other excellent releases worth exploring. In this section, I’d like to mention a few artists who, for various reasons, didn’t make the main list but certainly shouldn’t be overlooked.

First and foremost, Marina Džukljev, who maintains a series of strong international collaborations with musicians from Slovenia, Austria, Germany, and beyond. I’ve written here about her concert with John Dikeman in Belgrade. I simply prefer experiencing her live performances, which may be why I haven’t devoted enough attention to her recorded output. She operates in a wide field of avant-garde and free jazz, as well as free improvisation. The album Industriesalon, recorded with Michael Griener and Christian Weber, is well worth a listen.

Aleksandar Škorić is a wonderful free jazz drummer, though I wouldn’t say he has yet recorded a definitive album (despite releasing frequently on Bandcamp). The closest would be the live album by the WOS Trio with saxophonist Predrag Okiljević and bassist Ksawery Wójciński, which I would certainly recommend.

Predrag Okiljević is part of the group of musicians gathered around the Horz Music label, whose core over the years has included him, drummer Lav Kovač, and bassist Marko Čurčić. Their best-known band is Dragon’s Fuel, which I feel hasn’t quite reached its full potential, although they have a couple of very solid albums—Pomorandže, drawing on the British aesthetic of bands like Polar Bear and Led Bib, and the more song-oriented (almost “exotica”-styled) Fruška Džungla. There are also several other lineup variations involving these musicians that are worth checking out if you have the time.

“The Serbian Wave”

An unusual phenomenon on the Serbian jazz scene occurred when Italian label owner Antonio Martino (A.MA Records) discovered Serbian jazz—particularly musicians working in hard bop and post-bop. In effect, he took on a role that might be expected of a national label, creating a recording infrastructure for the mainstream of Serbian jazz. Some of the leading talents of this orientation found a home there, such as Ivan Radivojević (my personal favorite among them—I believe his best work is still ahead), Milena Jančurić, Ksenija Kočetova (a talented pianist based in Vienna), Miloš Čolović, and others. Saxophonist Rastko Obradović also naturally belongs to this circle, if we’re speaking about the core of the mainstream scene. As does drummer Peđa Milutinović with his project drumbooty, which represents a contemporary, New York-style take on fusion.

Institutions

The Big Band RTS is the key orchestra in the country, preserving the tradition of the big band sound. They occasionally venture into more adventurous collaborations—such as with Samuel Blaser—but my interests lie elsewhere, with due respect to the orchestra’s work. I would say something similar about Vasil Hadžimanov, by far the most popular jazz musician in the country. His VH Band has already achieved cult status. He built his reputation on a fusion sound that falls outside my personal interests, so I mention him primarily for informational purposes.

Sorry if I didn’t mention you

This is the moment when someone might think I’ve forgotten to mention this or that musician. My apologies! This is, after all, a text from a personal perspective on a personal platform—it doesn’t aim for encyclopedic precision, nor is it obliged to list everything that has happened in Serbian jazz over the past 15 years. But I hope it will at least help someone get acquainted with a few important musicians and albums; once that spark of interest appears, it’s easy to keep exploring further.

Back in 2009, when I launched Jazzin.rs, I also began paying a bit more attention to the major annual polls of top jazz musicians. Over the following years, I remember perceiving DownBeat as “conservative,” while the Jazz Journalists Association Awards (JJA Awards) felt more open to avant-garde or contemporary tendencies on the jazz scene. Of course, all of this is a bit hazy now, and my own thinking about jazz has evolved over time. On several occasions I took part in the annual poll of the Argentine magazine El Intruso, which I considered very high-quality and certainly aligned with my musical tastes at the time. The Free Jazz Blog’s annual selection, on the other hand, felt a bit too specialized for me, so I didn’t rely on it much—even though it was undoubtedly valuable for those who follow free jazz in depth.

The JJA Awards still maintain a solid balance between legendary names and emerging stars. Personally, I’m especially glad that Mary Halvorson and James Brandon Lewis have already, in their forties, been practically canonized as major jazz artists—figures who (I believe) are on track to become true legends and lifetime achievement award recipients. I’ve followed both since their early days: Halvorson caught my attention as far back as her time with Trevor Dunn’s Trio Convulsant, even before launching her solo career, while Lewis has been on my radar since Divine Travels. I also had the chance to interview them before they became widely recognized, and they both came across as humble, approachable, and down-to-earth. Seeing their careers flourish today feels genuinely rewarding—almost like watching the success of close family members.

On the other hand, it’s an uncomfortable truth that the JJA Awards largely overlook musicians who don’t live on the American continent, which is evident from this year’s shortlists across categories. And yet, since the occasional European does appear—such as Manfred Eicher in the producer category, or the WDR Big Band and a few others—it’s clear that this isn’t an exclusively American award. In any case, I don’t need to dwell on this: others on Substack have already written about the relationship between the U.S. and European jazz scenes, such as Matt Merewitz, who has probably drawn the most attention with some of his texts (HERE and HERE).

New Listens

My absolute favorite in rotation right now is the French violinist Clément Janinet with his project Garden of Silences (Arve Henriksen – trumpet, effects; Ambre Vuillermoz – accordion; Robert Lucaciu – double bass). I first heard him a few years ago at jazzahead!, and I’ve followed his work ever since. His version of chamber jazz is truly exciting—this is an artist who certainly deserves a longer piece, and I’ll definitely return to him in the coming weeks.

Another string player currently in focus for me is Szilárd Mezei from Serbia: a violist and composer who, over the past couple of decades, has even made appearances on DownBeat lists, where his albums have also been reviewed. Although deeply rooted in the tradition of American free jazz—particularly figures such as Anthony Braxton, Cecil Taylor, and Archie Shepp—he has developed a highly original voice that incorporates contemporary composition, Hungarian folk traditions, and theatrical music. This year he released an excellent octet album, Only in Movies, which I still need to listen to more carefully. Nearly 80 minutes of music, with two pieces alone totaling 56 minutes, is quite a commitment—but also a very rewarding one, in its own sophisticated way.

I’ve already mentioned the French pianist Lara Humbert, whom I met at jazzahead! this year. She leads an octet with the delightfully playful name I’m Not Done Cooking, whose approach to contemporary jazz is unusually eclectic—at once complex and fun. Here’s the piece from their record Tome 1 : Beauty and the Queen:

The fourth album I’ve listened to (more than once) this week is Wellspring, the debut by DoYeon Kim, released on TAO Forms. She plays the gayageum, an ancient Korean zither, within the context of avant-garde jazz and improvised music, which is already fascinating in itself for those of us less familiar with the instrument. The album also features heavyweights Tyshawn Sorey, Mat Maneri, and Henry Fraser. DoYeon Kim also delivers some striking vocal parts on several tracks.

The only “problem” I have with albums like this is finding the right setting to really listen to them properly at home. I need to be free of distractions from everyday obligations, not disturb others with loud music, and so on. That’s often why I listen to less avant-garde jazz at home—but I enjoy it all the more in a live concert setting. I have a feeling DoYeon Kim will have a successful touring life—or at least I hope so.

Jazz Across Europe

It’s not a “jazz festival” per se, but I’ll once again mention the excellent Ring Ring Festival in Belgrade, which for thirty years has been a beacon for new music in Serbia. I’m especially looking forward to the return of the legendary guitarist Fred Frith, as well as a new local project—a saxophone duo featuring Jasna Jovićević and Predrag Okiljević. They’ve already performed several concerts across Europe, but I’m very curious to see them in this new collaboration, alongside their work with their regular bands. The full program is HERE.

Although it’s still quite early, it’s worth announcing the Loveland Festival, which takes place in Copenhagen in late November and early December. As a reminder, this is a comprehensive project by Danish guitarist Jakob Bro, who has revitalized his label and launched a festival under the same name. He’s on a remarkable creative run, and I have the impression this is one of the most important initiatives not only in European jazz, but beyond. In any case, I’ll share two visuals here with the first program announcements—they speak for themselves. I’m not sure I’ll be able to attend, but I’m certain I’d very much like to.

In public discourse around Spotify and other streaming services, for years the focus has been on the shamefully low earnings musicians receive from the streaming of their songs, while this year the spotlight has shifted to Artificial inteligence. Particularly striking is the increasingly visible phenomenon of AI impersonation or “AI slop,” which has escalated on the jazz scene: fake “artists” are appearing on streaming platforms, presenting themselves as real jazz musicians, with AI-generated music and covers that have nothing to do with their music—or with jazz at all.

All of these are serious, pressing issues. But behind them lies a fundamental question about the way algorithms function—namely, whether algorithms can replace human curration. This is neither a new nor a revolutionary topic, but it doesn’t hurt to revisit it once again and consider it from a jazz perspective, if necessary dozens or hundreds of times. Because it matters.

Streaming in Serbia began to take off more seriously around 2015–2016. The first (legal) platform to appear was Deezer, and I immediately started using it. At the time, this was also necessary because of the job I was doing, which required familiarity with all current software for listening to music on hi-fi systems imported by the company I worked for. It was a time of software enthusiasm for listeners, but also the beginning of the collapse of our company’s distribution business. Sales of CDs from nearly all the labels we imported gradually began to decline—except for ECM, which also hesitated the longest before entering the streaming universe.

Spotify arrived a bit later in Serbia, but it quickly gained its followers. I started using it as well, simply because it made it easier to listen to all the new music I was interested in—music that hadn’t reached me directly from labels or musicians I was in contact with. I would save albums that interested me and listen to them both on my home system and on a Bluetooth speaker while traveling. Since I didn’t tinker much with the settings, at some point I noticed that music kept playing even after the album I had chosen ended. It was stylistically similar, but I definitely hadn’t selected it. Nor did it always suit my taste. Soon enough, I realized that His Majesty—the Algorithm—had entered the scene.

The idea behind Spotify’s algorithm was quite clear: after I finish listening to an album I’m interested in, Spotify will continue playing similar tracks in order to keep me on the platform. And indeed, everything was similar—but for some reason, very little of it was to my taste. If I listened, for example, to Tord Gustavsen, once his album ended I would get another ten piano trios in the playlist—often Scandinavian, or from neighboring European countries.

Certain musicians would keep recurring in similar situations. For example, the Neil Cowley Trio was, for some reason, constantly present in algorithmic recommendations, even though I had never particularly listened to his music. I have nothing against him, but other musicians were simply always in my focus, and the algorithm failed to convince me that I should be listening to him. Or take the Helge Lien Trio—again and again, Spotify would offer them to me. The match was somewhat better here, since I had listened to their music about a decade ago, but it still wouldn’t have been my first choice for expanding my horizons.

Expanding horizons. That is precisely what, upon reflection, I identified as the crucial problem with Spotify’s algorithm—or with the idea of AI-driven algorithms on streaming services in general. The algorithm is not designed to broaden our horizons, but to keep us as safely as possible within the genre and stylistic environment we started from.

All That Jazz in Radio – Human Curation vs. Algorithms

This was the title of a panel held as part of the jazzahead! conference program, featuring Laima Slepkovaitė from LRT (Lithuania), Co de Kloet (Zivasound/NPO/Netherlands), and Roch Siciński from Polish Radio, with moderation and thoughtful commentary by Götz Bühler, Artistic Advisor of jazzahead. After attending both the EBU meeting of radio producers and the panel itself, I felt the urge to put all of this “on paper,” and the fact that I was on the right track was confirmed by the reflections of my radio colleagues.

I found Siciński’s remarks particularly telling, as he also touched on the “early days” of the YouTube platform. “In the beginnings, algorithms were very helpful. Maybe you remember:15 years ago, when you turn on the YouTube and start with Miles Davis, after two hours, you were in the roots music of Ghana. And now, when you start with Miles Davis, after two hours, you will be back with Miles Davis. And that’s disappointment for me”, said Siciński.

Co de Kloet pointed out that this situation is not particularly new, yet—as we can see—it continues to produce similar results decades later. “I wanna make a comparison to rock radio, and what happened in Holland in the beginning of the ‘90s. There was a system called PowerGold and instead of DJs selecting music and presenting that to their audience, they had a computer who generated playlists. And the effects were: one, all the programs started to sound alike; and two, all the people who knew something about music were fired. Three, the market share went down from 25% to 2%.”

Laima Slepkovaitė also had little praise (to put it mildly) for the introduction of AI systems into certain areas of radio work at LRT. She emphasized that “AI is a good servant, but a bad colleague,” and described the use of algorithms in music curation as a misstep.

“This is what we are here for. We are still human beings working at radios. We are there to tell our managers who may be very enthusiastic, when they come back from some workshops, meetings and seminars, where they’re introduced to those products. They come to us with those ideas and we are there to say that this won’t work, that it’s dangerous, harmful. We are there to suggest the ways to use those expensive products for the benefit of our audience, and not to do harm”.

I particularly identified with the words of Roch Siciński, who made another important point: “Music is fun for us. And discovering is fun. Algorithms can help us to get something very quick and get something very similar to what we like, and in that perspective, it is useful. But to be clear, we are very curious about music, so I think that we want to know not something similar, but something which can challenge us. And the radio journalist can challenge the listener, propose something completely different”.

Of course, it is also important to point out certain aspects where the algorithm itself does not function according to pure genre logic. Advocacy group Music Equality has shared their findings from research from the European Commission showing that Spotify is systematically devaluing the music exports of 11 countries in southeast Europe (SEE) by shutting them out from algorithmic discovery. “The EC report, published in March, found that even when fed with local music recommendations, the algorithm consistently fails to amplify local cultures, all but ignoring centuries of history and important contributions to music such as Bulgarian jazz and Serbian folk, which UNESCO recognizes on its intangible heritage register”, as it is mentioned in THIS ARTICLE.

To avoid being completely biased toward the “human side,” I should say that there have been situations where I felt the algorithm did a good job. Looking back at those instances now, it seems to me that this was mostly when dealing with a type of music I didn’t know well enough, a scene that wasn’t particularly close to me—so I would get a decent overall overview. But as soon as I entered a field of music that fundamentally interested me, the algorithm would start to stumble. In other words, it was doing an “excellent job” in a software sense, but as Siciński aptly put it—we are very curious about music and we want to be challenged.

My work in radio does not involve creating playlists, but rather selecting entire concerts or albums. Still, there have been dozens of occasions where I created playlists lasting an hour or two for various purposes. I would never end up with a playlist consisting of ten pianist bandleaders, or ten straight free jazz tracks. A playlist must have its own dramaturgy: an opening set of tracks that establishes the tone, in line with the purpose it was created for; then a piece that contrasts in tempo; transitions between faster and slower pieces; the occasional surprise that the listener might not expect; and so on and so on. We all understand the point.

Importance of Jazz Stories

OK. At this point, we can raise a counterargument. Yes, perhaps the algorithm doesn’t work well for us hardcore music aficionados, but it is good enough for 95% of people who simply want some music “in the background.” Or for those who do listen attentively but don’t have the time—or the desire—to spend hours exploring everything new that has appeared in the genres they love. That’s what radio hosts and programmers, critics—or algorithms—are for.

The panel speakers also emphasized the human side of the story in this sense: radio hosts themselves are individuals, with their own presentation styles, diction, narration, and stories. On the other hand, there are the “stories as such,” or as Siciński put it: “I think that emotions and that story which we all can share through the radio are the most important. You can imagine situation when algorithm on Spotify suggests you to listen, for example, I Remember Clifford, but you don’t know the story. You don’t know who was the Clifford Brown or you don’t know why the tune Alabama is called Alabama. Or Lee Morgan’s music without his tragic stories is not the same, and so on and so on. I think that’s not replaceable”.

This is an aspect of jazz—and of listening to music in general—about which I have always had mixed feelings. I often held the view that “pure music” must be good and able to withstand the test of listening regardless of the context and the “story” behind it. That the music of an “ordinary” person with an “ordinary” life is just as valuable as that of someone who lived a turbulent or tragic life, and that the latter’s music is not a priori better or more interesting. But on the other hand, we do not live under a glass dome or in an abstract world, and everything we know about music and what surrounds it enriches and deepens our experience of it.

Very often, such stories serve as excellent organic PR for jazz as a whole; thanks to the compelling narratives from jazz history, this music can reach a wider audience that might potentially be interested in it. There is no need to shy away from that. These stories must be told by living people.

Or perhaps not?

Every new technology starts out clumsy, only to gradually become better and better. Just think of what Google Translate was like a few years ago—an absolute joke—and how tools like Chat GPT or programs such as DeepL translate today. It is very possible that certain business-minded individuals are carefully reading everything being written about AI algorithms and systematically registering what serious and thoughtful people are saying about the system’s shortcomings. If there is a problem, there is also a solution. Perhaps some brilliant programmer will come up with a more advanced AI system that anticipates not only music similar to what we listen to, but also our listening needs in a broader sense. Or perhaps a generated AI voice will start inserting these “stories” between tracks, if the industry determines that this is necessary for market development—or at least for eliminating the “competition” represented by living people.

I want to believe that human imagination and intelligence, sophistication, heart, emotional depth—and ultimately unpredictability—are things that will forever remain beyond the reach of artificial intelligence logic. In that sense, I am still a (moderate) optimist.

I first heard about Fred Lonberg-Holm sometime around 2008, when the album Beat Reader by the legendary Vandermark 5 came out. There was something incredibly exciting about the way he approached the cello, but also about his ability to fit that distinctive sound into a jazz band context. At the time, I was into several bands that incorporated elements of (post-)punk or noise into their expression, such as the New York group Gutbucket or various projects by Otomo Yoshihide; Lonberg-Holm stood shoulder to shoulder with them in multiple ensembles he enriched with his sound, combining a clean tone and amplified cello with distortion and pedals. That sharp edge in his playing was (and still is, of course) remarkably layered: free improvisation, post-bop, noise rock, free jazz…

As early as 2009, he appeared at the Ring Ring Festival in Belgrade with a band then called Keefe Jackson’s Fast Citizens, as part of an elite Chicago jazz circle. A few years later, the group released the album Gather, this time under the name Fred Lonberg-Holm’s Fast Citizens, clearly signaling who was in charge. The lineup included saxophonists Aram Shelton and Keefe Jackson, Josh Berman on cornet, bassist Anton Hatwich, and drummer Frank Rosaly. I wrote about that album with great enthusiasm at the time, considering them the most important band of the post-Vandermark 5 era.

As the years went by, I began exploring other tendencies in jazz and gradually set aside that whole circle of musicians—Lonberg-Holm included. That is, until a few months ago, when I received an email from my radio editors asking what I thought about a duo that might perform in Studio 6. I was on a weekend trip abroad, skimmed through the message, and saw two names: Swiss saxophonist Christoph Erb, whose work I didn’t yet know, and—no surprise—Fred Lonberg-Holm. I wasn’t familiar with their duo format, but I quickly replied that Lonberg-Holm is a living legend and that I would listen to their material as soon as possible. Within a few days, I went through their Screw and Straw albums and confirmed they were well worth booking.

Studio 6, Radio Belgrade

A few months later, the concert finally took place. Studio 6 runs on well-established routines. At 5 PM there is a soundcheck, when the sound engineer and assistant arrive, along with one of my editors and myself, ready to assist the band during setup. Because of the specific conditions of performing in a radio studio, sound adjustment can be quite complex. There is no standard monitoring system, so in some cases musicians need to wear headphones to hear each other—at least in more conventional jazz settings. None of that was necessary here, but the sound still required careful fine-tuning so everyone would be satisfied.

Although I have to admit I haven’t closely followed Lonberg-Holm’s recent activities, I undoubtedly see him as a legend of the Chicago jazz and improvised music scene. I was genuinely thrilled to see him walk into our studio (even if I didn’t quite show it; over the years I’ve tried not to overwhelm musicians with fan-like enthusiasm). We exchanged a brief introduction, began setting up the equipment, and so on. Unfortunately, it turned out that Lonberg-Holm had some issues with his amplifier, so he decided to perform the concert entirely acoustically. The soundcheck ended, and we dispersed until the performance a few hours later.

Concerts in Studio 6 feel like gatherings of a large group of friends. I often meet people there whom I first encountered at concerts, and we’ve been crossing paths in this way for the past 15–20 years. The studio itself can accommodate 60–80 people, and I usually know at least half of them personally. Recently, a significant portion of the audience has also consisted of the new Russian diaspora with an affinity for avant-garde sound. Registration for the concert is mandatory via email, and the limited capacity is usually filled within the first few hours after we send out the newsletter—just as it was this time.

Christoph Erb plays soprano and tenor saxophone, and his musical language consists of micro-gestures, long sustained tones, subtle explorations of texture, and so on. In that sense, he clearly belongs to the free improvisation scene, which is particularly strong in Switzerland, while traces of traditional jazz vocabulary appear only occasionally. It was therefore amusing that the concert took place on International Jazz Day (pure coincidence—they simply had a free date on their tour), which meant that Radio Belgrade 3 inadvertently made its own kind of programming statement. Editor Ksenija Stevanović prepared an excellent introductory text for the concert, elaborating on the significance of free improvised music in this context and giving it prominence on a day that usually foregrounds the jazz mainstream.

The entire concert was acoustic, and in that sense I felt a slight regret at not hearing Lonberg-Holm in some of his more characteristic amplified improvisational situations; still, his vocabulary is unmistakable and compelling even in an acoustic setting.

My father often jokes about my musical tastes, comparing the music I enjoy to the creaking of a door or a poorly sealed window. I usually go along with that joke—it amuses him, and he immediately understands what kind of concert I attended. That’s probably how I would describe the evening in Studio 6 to him. To a more discerning readership, however, I would speak of the subtle interaction within the free improvisation idiom; the exploration of the relationship between sound and silence; the possibilities of extending the capacities of acoustic instruments beyond the European tonal system. The relationship between instruments and space—when Erb places his saxophone against the floor to produce a desired distorted sound. The nuances that emerge from the way Lonberg-Holm presses his bow against the cello. A multitude of details in their interplay and mutual responses, forming a distinctive musical flow.

Screw and Straw with Ilia Belorukov and Aleksandar Škorić

I already mentioned the two musicians in the subtitle in my previous concert report from Belgrade; each has enriched the local scene in their own way. One arrived from Saint Petersburg, while the other returned from the Netherlands and Belgium, where he toured, among others, with legends such as William Parker and Japanese saxophonist Akira Sakata, alongside his striking collaborations with John Dikeman. On this occasion, they expanded the duo, which after Studio 6 first performed in Novi Sad and then returned to Belgrade for a show at the underground club Kontrapunkt.

Ilia Belorukov opted for modular synth and electronics this time, without saxophone, which was a logical choice with Erb as the primary wind player. Lonberg-Holm was able to plug into an amplifier, giving him the option to really open up, but the set still began as a kind of continuation of what we had heard in Studio 6—subtle interplay enriched with new layers of sound. At a certain point, however, the entire band loosened up, moving into louder passages; even Erb briefly shifted into a more overtly jazz language, and for a moment the group sounded like a postmodern variation on John Coltrane’s modal jazz. I didn’t time it, but it seemed the set lasted somewhat longer than the one at the radio, and it included an additional encore piece.

All in all, there were strong moments, as well as passages of searching for a shared language. But that is precisely the charm of free improvisation: through encounter and spontaneous interaction, something new and exciting is sought—a moment when all the points connect and the music takes on a compelling form. There were more than enough of those peaks across both concert evenings.

Before diving into the list of the “best concerts” at this year’s jazzahead!, it’s worth noting that—of course—I didn’t see every performance. That was physically impossible, as I also attended various talks, conferences, professional gatherings, and similar events. On top of that, I arrived later than planned on the first day due to flight issues. This significantly reduced the number of concerts I could attend; from those that remained, I made a selection based on what I was most interested in after listening to some material in advance, which left me with around 10–15 performances.

Among those that didn’t make the final cut, I would still highlight a couple of interesting acts. For instance, Jasmine Myra, whose new album Where Light Settles is about to be released on Gondwana Records. I like this label and many of the artists who release music there, so it felt natural to look forward to this concert as well. And musically, it was just right—but perhaps too delicate for the oversized trade fair hall. This type of concert is something I prefer to experience in a theater setting or a mid-sized concert hall with a capacity of 200–600 people. Myra’s music was gentle, subtle, warm, and melodic, but I couldn’t fully experience it here.

The situation was different with the Wajdi Riahi Trio, whose more energetic music within the classic piano trio format translated better to festival conditions. Within the framework of contemporary post-bop, this musician functions quite well, and everything was solid. But for me personally, nothing beyond that. Perhaps it also has to do with a certain saturation with this format, from which I now expect an absolute spectacle in order to feel a stronger emotional response. In any case, I’ll keep an eye on his name in the future.

The final “honorable mention” goes to the band Knobil - trio consisting of double bassist and vocalist Louise Knobil, bass clarinetist Chloé Marsigny, and drummer Vincent Andreae. Conceptually, this was a very interesting performance, and I had the impression of listening to a successor to Esperanza Spalding who has ventured into free jazz and avant-garde theater. Knobil is an outstanding double bassist with intriguing compositional ideas. I found the material I heard to be somewhat uneven in quality—that’s my only criticism. But what worked, really worked.

Richard Koch – Rays of Light

I hadn’t heard of trumpeter Richard Koch before, and this was one of those very pleasant surprises—the kind that makes me love jazzahead!. The lineup itself was intriguing from the start, featuring accordion, violin, and frame drum, alongside trumpet and double bass. Their point of departure is not what we typically perceive as standard jazz rhythm or harmonic complexity, but rather a heartfelt immersion in emotion and clear melodic patterns filled with pathos, from which they move into playful improvisations. Besides Koch himself, violinist Fabiana Striffler made a strong impression, and their interaction in the front line provided momentum for the entire ensemble.

yvonne moriel :: sweetlife

At this point, I can say I’m a fan of Yvonne Moriel, so this was an easy choice. I came to hear songs I love, and that’s exactly what I got, along with convincing improvisational development. I’ve already written about this saxophonist’s music in a previously published review, so I don’t have much to add here. It’s excellent contemporary jazz, and I particularly like both the horn section and the approach to bass lines through synths instead of double bass or electric bass.

This concert also took place in one of the large fair halls, which made it harder to fully enjoy. I simply don’t like watching jazz concerts in huge spaces—I feel that something gets lost in the sonic dispersion and the physical distance from the musicians; especially when it’s not a concert hall with tiered seating, but rather a flat setup where the visual barrier increases as you look over the audience in front of you.

Laura Jurd

It’s fair to say she arrived at the festival as one of its biggest stars, even though she’s still in an early stage of her career. The album Rites & Revelations appeared on many “best of the year” jazz lists, and I had followed her work even before that. Her eclectic approach—at the intersection of folk melodies, post-bop, and neo-fusion—sounded exceptionally cohesive, with a band that clearly knows how to maintain a sense of collective interplay even when venturing into improvisation. Alongside Jurd as bandleader, bassist Ruth Goller is also gaining recognition, having released the intriguing album Skyllumina on the popular International Anthem label; her pedal-based approach to the bass guitar here was impressive, while I did wish guitarist Tara Cunningham had taken a few more solos. The two of them bring a similar impact to the band as, for example, Rafiq Bhatia and Ian Chang do in Dave Douglas’s groups—adding an “edge” and a contemporary spirit to Laura Jurd’s music.

Langendorf United

“I can’t figure out whether they’re serious or joking,” one jazz enthusiast said to me, as we watched the concert together.

“Both, I think,” I replied.

And indeed, at times the band did feel a bit too TikTok-friendly—like when keyboardist Daniel Bingert was rolling around and doing somersaults in front of the first rows after a solo, dressed in summer shorts and barefoot. On the other hand, the playing itself was impeccable. In the introduction, we heard that bandleader Lina Langendorf had traveled across Africa, gaining highly relevant performance experience, and from the very first bars we were immersed in a musical universe reminiscent of Mulatu Astatke and similar ethio-jazz-inspired ensembles. But it didn’t stop there—we also heard a broader expressive range from Langendorf, one that more comprehensively bridges Western and African jazz traditions, somewhat akin to certain projects by Goran Kajfeš—yet distinct enough. The bandleader’s enthusiasm on stage was contagious, and Kulturzentrum Schlachthof proved to be a much more suitable, intimate space for a quality jazz concert. We saw that both during Laura Jurd’s performance and with Langendorf United.

Jure Pukl – Analog AI

A few years ago, Tord Gustavsen’s bassist couldn’t make it to a concert in Romania due to a delayed flight. Even though it’s a very tight-knit trio, it turned out just fine. The moment the band stepped out of its comfort zone, new sonic possibilities opened up—ones that might not have emerged if everything had gone “as planned.”

A similar—actually identical—situation happened in Bremen with Jure Pukl, as Joe Sanders was unable to make it to the concert. As a result, Analog AI became a trio featuring John Escreet on piano and future jazz legend Christian Lillinger on drums. Compared to the album I wrote about HERE, new perspectives naturally opened up, and the band acquired an unintended avant-garde edge. A sharper sound, three even more inspired and focused musicians, and compositions flowing into one another through brilliant sequences of top-tier solo performances. Pukl and Escreet as the core, and the incredible Lillinger as a human rhythm machine who would outplay any AI attempting to imitate him.

Three days at jazzahead! in Bremen were so intense that I simply didn’t have time to do anything else—let alone write a short note or a full article on the spot. I posted a bunch of Instagram stories, recorded a few conferences, watched loads of concerts, and sat through meetings; I talked to jazz workers and musicians before and after shows, and so on.

For someone coming from Serbia—a country where jazz infrastructure is still driven more by sporadic individual enthusiasm than by a well-organized system—everything I see and hear in Western European countries feels a bit surreal. At the same time, there’s a comforting feeling of being at the world’s largest gathering of jazz nerds, where, in a way, I’m among my own.

Meeting New Jazz People (or: Never Heard of Him/Her/Them)

When I talk about “meeting new people” at jazzahead, I don’t mean running into an old friend—a musician, agent, publicist, or manager—who introduces you to someone. Or someone you knew online and are now meeting in person for the first time. I mean people who are New New. People you’ve not only never met before, but have literally never even heard of.

On the jazzahead website there’s a section called the Participants Portal, as well as the infamous Talque app used for communication among registered participants. “We are in the business of stalking people,” we joked at an informal gathering of radio professionals.

In other words: you’ll often get messages through the app from a complete stranger from who-knows-where, asking to meet for coffee—and, of course, to present their work or suggest a collaboration.

It presents a challenge, because the number of messages can be overwhelming. Still, it’s fun.

For example, I got a message from an Icelandic double bassist, Freysteinn Gíslason, whose work I knew absolutely nothing about. I clicked on a few tracks from his latest album and liked what I heard, so we arranged to meet at jazzahead. By the time we met, I had already done a bit of homework—I noticed that guitarist Hilmar Jensson, someone I’ve known of for a long time, played on the album.

So when we met in person, we could talk not just about music, but about life, the protests in Serbia, prices and climate in Iceland, housing loans, and everything in between.

On the day I arrived in Bremen, I missed my connecting flight in Frankfurt due to long passport control lines. As compensation, I got a train ticket from Frankfurt to Bremen, which gave me an extra four hours to go through messages and catch up.

That’s when a pianist named Lara Humbert reached out—another person I had never heard of before. I opened her Bandcamp page and let a few tracks play. It turned out the music was very much to my taste. Scrolling down, I saw a recommendation for Danish saxophonist Amalie Dahl, suggested to listeners who liked Lara’s music. I haven’t listened to her yet, but I noticed she’s been featured in DownBeat and WeJazz magazine, which probably means it’s about time I did.

So once again, I arrived at the meeting reasonably prepared. It was great to hear about the Brussels scene, and to chat about jazzahead itself and what it means to different people.

Missing Great Music

I think the total number of concerts at jazzahead is somewhere around 160. Around 40 take place in the central Messe Bremen halls and the nearby Kulturzentrum Schlachthof —that’s where the main focus is—while the rest are scattered across the city.

The math alone tells you it’s impossible to see everything, even if concerts were your only priority. Everyone knows this, and you assume there’s enough audience to go around—but still, it stings a bit.

There were also musicians I already knew well, like Portuguese guitarist Marcelo Dos Reis with his trio Flora; or the Petros Klampanis Trio, whom I hadn’t seen live before but had been interested in for a while. There were also themed nights I would definitely have attended if they had taken place within the main fair area—like Luxembourg Clubnight, where I only knew Pascal Schumacher beforehand, but had never heard of Veda Bartringer or Arthur Possing.

Discovering musicians outside your usual information bubble is one of the best things: you decide to meet someone, check out their work, listen to their music, maybe end up writing about it or playing it on the radio. Or you go to a concert that wasn’t even on your radar—something you would never have “planned” to see because you usually stick to your own taste.

And then, when all of that is so close—but you simply can’t physically make it—it still leaves you with a sense of regret.

All Radio People Share the Same Problems

As a representative of Radio Belgrade, I took part in the EBU Jazz Producers Meeting. The EBU (European Broadcasting Union) gathered radio journalists and producers from 10–15 European countries who work with jazz in their programming or organize jazz concerts and events through their radio platforms.

Various topics were discussed: participation in the Euroradio Jazz Competition for bands under 30, submitted by member organizations; or young musicians performing in European big bands that assemble every two years, and so on.

But we also talked about everyday concerns we all share—budget cuts, staff reductions, the struggle to keep AI from replacing human hosts and programmers, and so on. In informal conversations, we joked that it sometimes felt like group therapy: “My name is _____ and I’m a jazz radio journalist.” And everyone nods knowingly, patting you on the shoulder because they understand exactly what you mean.

There was also an interesting panel titled “All That Jazz in Radio – Human Curation vs. Algorithms,” featuring speakers from the EBU network. I’ll come back to that in a separate text soon.

Substack Friends

For the first time, I also met “someone from Substack” in person. Though, given the career of Matt Merewitz, it wouldn’t be fair to say he’s just “from there,” considering his long-standing work with Fully Altered Media. Still, I have to admit—it meant a lot.

I started Eurojazzist for various reasons. Among other things, to see whether my writing could reach readers beyond Serbia and neighboring countries that share the same language—but also to meet people from the jazz world I hadn’t been able to connect with before due to that language barrier. Now that’s actually happening, and I’m glad about it.

I almost met Dave Stapleton from Edition Records as well—I planned to approach him after a panel he took part in, but because of the missed flight, I arrived too late. There will be other chances.

jazzahead! and Politics

Anyone who takes even a quick look at the jazzahead program will notice that diversity and inclusivity—understood in the broadest sense—play an important role in shaping the lineup and program sections. These are values I personally believe in.

Some dissatisfied jazz fans might argue that, due to political correctness, the festival didn’t feature the “best” or most talented bands; some musicians might feel they were “passed over” in favor of others. I’ve also come across texts discussing project-based funding as potentially harmful to the “best” musicians if their work doesn’t align with funding agendas. These are questions debated for decades across political, philosophical, and sociological contexts. The answers are universal.

Just as I’m glad that artists are no longer excused for every possible misbehavior simply because they are “geniuses,” I also welcome any initiative that helps marginalized or underrepresented artists gain space on major stages.

Personal example: if one day the Serbian jazz scene gets the chance to present its best musicians at jazzahead—I would fully support that initiative. I believe there are many musicians from my country who are truly valuable, yet don’t achieve broader European success because they’re not part of the wider market ecosystem: they lack high-profile publicists, managers, labels, or institutional support from export agencies or government. That puts them at a disadvantage compared to their EU peers.

I wouldn’t be unhappy if a great Serbian (or Croatian, Albanian, Macedonian, etc.) band performed at jazzahead at the expense of a “better” band from, say, France or Denmark. After all—there’s no exact science that determines who is “better” or “worse” in jazz. Nor does it determine who succeeds in today’s increasingly complex promotional and marketing ecosystem—not just in jazz, but across all music genres.

This week I’m heading to the jazzahead! trade fair and festival in Bremen, so there will be a slight departure from my regular posting rhythm—at least until Sunday evening. While the event is on, I’ll probably be posting occasional stories and reels on Instagram, so feel free to follow me at @eurojazzist if you’re into short-form video content.

For those who haven’t been to this event: it’s not a typical jazz festival, but rather a gathering of jazz professionals who come together to exchange contacts, initiate collaborations, or simply meet—things that sometimes later lead to meaningful projects and developments.

There is also a concert programme, and it’s quite extensive—around 40 concerts take place within the fair venue itself, but they are mostly 30–45 minutes long. These are so-called “showcase” performances designed to briefly present bands to representatives of the “jazz industry”. The festival is also open to the general public, but the context is such that the musicians often address professionals more directly. I once attended a concert where the bandleader ended by saying something like, “my booking manager is over there by the stage, if you’re interested,” which is a bit different from inviting the audience to buy CDs and vinyl records. You get the idea.

When people in Serbia ask me who is playing at jazzahead!, they’re usually curious about “the main stars”. I then explain that this is not really the point, and that there are no traditional “stars” in that sense. The whole event is designed to present musicians and bands who have not yet reached the peak of their careers, or who are at different stages of their “breakthrough” toward a potentially wider audience.

Still, if I had to highlight a few names, trumpeter Laura Jurd is certainly among the more established figures, already an important voice on the UK scene and beyond. The same goes for Jasmine Myra, a British saxophonist releasing music on the very active Gondwana Records. Fans of Scandinavian jazz and those following the ACT Music label will likely know Swedish pianist Joel Lyssarides, young but already quite established. I would also point out Slovenian saxophonist Jure Pukl, whose band features heavyweights such as John Escreet (p, keys), Joe Sanders (db), and Christian Lillinger (dr). I’m not sure how well known she is outside Austria, but I’m personally particularly interested in saxophonist Yvonne Moriel, who will be performing with her band Sweetlife.

Of course, I’ve also made my own list of concerts I plan to see, but that often falls apart once I’m on the ground—either due to spontaneous (very jazz-like) improvisation, or simply changing plans on the fly. So for now I won’t jump into specific names and recommendations, since I’ll cover those in a later concert report anyway.

The second major segment of jazzahead! is the trade fair, which is a story in itself. At first glance it resembles any other trade fair, with a lot of booths, presentations, panels, meeting spaces, and so on. But it’s also a very lively event where national export agencies often host receptions that feel more like friendly social gatherings or parties. There’s food, drinks, and plenty of informal networking.

And of course, there are also more “serious” events. I’ve marked several panel discussions in my itinerary: “A Connected Music: Building a Sustainable Music Ecosystem”, “All That Jazz on the Radio – Human Curation vs. Algorithms”, and “European Jazz in Motion: A look behind the scenes at Unit Records | The work of a record label reimagined – independent, cooperative, sustainable”. I also have a couple of official meetings and a few interviews lined up.

One important part of my visit is also participation in the EBU Jazz Producers Meeting, which takes place in the hotel where we are staying. Here I’m representing Radio Belgrade, which is part of the network, and we discuss various local and broader initiatives related to jazz concerts organized by institutions within the network.

All in all, it’s going to be lively, chaotic, and of course—full of great music.

As I’ve mentioned on a few occasions, Belgrade doesn’t really have a great offer of jazz concerts by well-known international musicians. However, when it comes to the club or underground scene, the situation is somewhat better. Or when we’re talking about areas where jazz intersects with alternative music. One of the side effects of the war in Ukraine has been a large influx of recent arrivals from Russia into Belgrade—tens of thousands, mostly young people, often from the creative industries and the arts, have been here for 2–3 years now and are very active across various fields. Among other things, they’ve launched several new alternative music festivals and venues, and many of them also show up at concerts we organize at Studio 6 of Radio Belgrade—especially when it comes to avant-garde jazz. All of this has brought fresh blood into the local concert life.

Wacław Zimpel

The first concert I attended this week was a solo performance by Wacław Zimpel (clarinet, electronics). Those who closely follow the free jazz scene might remember his first notable band, Undivided, whose album Passion was voted the best album of 2010 by readers of the freejazzblog.org. Over the next few years, he established himself as one of the most exciting voices of the Polish avant-garde jazz scene, after which he increasingly turned toward experimenting with minimalist music. During that period, he released several excellent albums as well. Then he gradually moved into the world of electronics, drifting further away from jazz, only occasionally performing in formations more firmly connected to the genre.

We first exchanged emails back in 2016, when I was curating the music program of the Nova Festival in Pančevo. A friend from my youth, who has good connections at the Polish embassy, hinted that the new ambassador was into jazz and that there was a good chance of co-funding a concert by a Polish musician if I had a strong idea. Zimpel was the first person who came to mind—I reached out to him, and we agreed that in 2017 he would bring the LAM Trio. I remember that whole process and all our conversations, both by email and in person, very fondly, and a recording of the Pančevo concert is available here:

After that, he came to Serbia several more times—some concerts I attended, some I missed. When we met in the half-empty Dim club, it felt like a reunion of old friends, even though we hadn’t really stayed in touch over the years. I was genuinely happy to see him, and it seems to me that Zimpel also remembers that whole experience from about ten years ago with fondness. He recalls how fantastic his last Belgrade concert was with the Indian band Saagara—a project he has been actively maintaining for over a decade—unfortunately, I wasn’t at that performance.

Somewhere online I read that Dim club has a “Berlin vibe,” which I can’t really confirm since I’ve only been to Berlin a couple of times and didn’t quite grasp much of its club scene. But it is one of those rustic, abandoned factory spaces with peeling walls, hosting DJ nights and avant-garde/alternative concerts.

After the short intro set by experimental guitar player Vukašin Đelić, Wacław Zimpel fit well into that setting with his set, which this time leaned more toward electronics than instrumental playing. The Polish musician used the clarinet mostly as one of the sound layers he manipulated during the performance, and in that sense I was left with a slight sense of missing out; but it’s clear that this is the direction Zimpel is moving in today and something he obviously enjoys. The day after Belgrade, he set off on tour with British DJ and electronic music artist James Holden, which has been one of his main collaborations in recent years.

In any case, I’ll be returning on Eurojazzist to Zimpel’s magnificent body of work from 2010 to 2020, which is personally closest to me. Stay tuned.

Iztok Koren & Raphael Rogiński

Today, it is no longer considered entirely appropriate to use the genre label “world music,” and there are more and more voices pointing out its problematic nature. Whether it’s about the position of Western-world arrogance that lumps everything else into a single drawer without making an effort to understand it, or the idea of the “exoticization” of other musical traditions—often older than the European one, not to mention the American. To be honest, I myself haven’t thought about all of this enough, and I’m now carefully reading and listening to reflections by very thoughtful musicians such as Vijay Iyer and Golnar Shahyar, who often address, on their social media, questions of how Western media and audiences relate to music from other parts of the world, as well as the discourse of public speech about different musical traditions. In any case, I still have a long road of learning ahead of me, and I’m glad to have people I can learn from.

Perhaps a few years ago I would have instinctively labeled the music of Iztok Koren & Raphael Rogiński as “world music.” Fortunately, terms like “imaginary folklore” are now circulating more widely through media and social networks, and there’s also that old Jarrett description of his solo improvised music—“universal folk music.” Iztok Koren plays various instruments, but the central ones are the banjo and the guembri, while Rogiński plays electric guitar. Their music is repetitive, atmospheric, elegiac. Slow and patient, even when unfolding in short pieces and vignettes. We could also call it cinematic. One can imagine American prairies as the visual backdrop of the music, but also North African landscapes. Or ancient Europe, as we who know it only through books and films might imagine it, yet still have a sense of its sensibility.

The concert took place within the Fields Festival, which spans a very broad range of genres, with an emphasis on the new/experimental/innovative within the market underground. It was scheduled for 6 PM, while it was still daylight outside, and flashes of the setting sun were breaking through the large windows of the Karmakoma club straight onto the stage. The audience was still gathering, as it was the first concert of the evening. Personally, I really appreciated these circumstances—there was no crowd or chatter, the sound was well set, and the musicians were focused and inspired. Everything was just right and lasted exactly as long as it should.

Fish in Oil

Although Fish in Oil has existed since 1993, the format we recognize today has been active since around 2010–2011. The band was founded by Serbian guitarist Bratislav Radovanović, who at one point became “infected” with the sound of Marc Ribot and John Zorn’s Electric Masada and transferred those musical affinities into the band. But also much more—the sensibility of Ry Cooder, the film music of Nino Rota and Ennio Morricone, a love of Charles Mingus, punk rock, and so on. After about a decade in a more or less stable lineup, in recent years Fish in Oil have increasingly been experimenting with various musicians, with the only constants being Radovanović himself and bassist Branislav Radojković.

At the gig in Kvaka 22—another Belgrade “loft space”—they were joined by truly excellent musicians: free jazz drummer Aleksandar Škorić (whom I mentioned in my text about John Dikeman’s concerts in Belgrade), violist and vocalist Jelena Popržan (who lives and works in Austria and occasionally returns to her native Serbia), and saxophonist/electroacoustic improviser Ilia Belorukov, who moved to Serbia from Saint Petersburg a few years ago.

Although I’ve already noted this, I’ll say it again: this was an underground club gig, with everything that such a concert entails. That is—fluctuations in the quality of the sound mix, chatter in the audience, and so on. There was also a completely drunk (or stoned?) guy yelling in the front row, whom people kept moving aside every five minutes, and even the musicians had to intervene from the stage. There were also regular fans in the front rows genuinely enjoying themselves. And some random people who just went out for the night. Also, family and friends of the musicians.

On the other hand, this kind of messy atmosphere can bring a lot of good—there’s no pressure of an “official concert”, and the band can really let loose, go all in. Sometimes they even have to, to overpower the audience noise, and sometimes they probably want to—because why not relax, surrender to each other, step on the gas, and see what might emerge from that spontaneity and mutual energy?

Jelena Popržan may come from a “new music” scene (classical/ethno/impro) or a reference system we associate, for example, with Iva Bittová, but I also recognize in her a sharp spirit, a joyful and playful intellect reminiscent of the legendary bassist Joëlle Léandre. That’s exactly what I thought last night while enjoying some of her improvisations. Both she and Škorić—musicians with strong and distinctive personalities—fit into the band perfectly. They brought a lot of their own voice, but didn’t overtake or hijack the stage; in the manner of experienced musicians, they found a way to enrich and catapult into the cosmos what is the music of “old Fish in Oil” with what is “theirs.” Unfortunately, Ilia Belorukov’s saxophone was collateral damage of the club sound mix—it was barely audible at moments when he seemed most playful. His electronic improvisations worked well, but for a full impression I’ll have to wait for another opportunity.

I’ve seen various Fish in Oil formations, and this one so far feels the most exciting. Radovanović and Radojković seem very happy in this new phase of the band, which relies less on a fixed lineup and more on “fluidity” and trying out different new approaches within a recognizable authorial universe. This time they named the band Fish in Oil Underground— I wouldn’t mind if they stuck with that name and concept.

One of the albums that has caught my ear in recent weeks is the new release by the Metropole Orkest, titled “Arakatak“. Although I’ve been listening to a lot of small ensembles and solo albums this year, this band—with its sheer grandeur—brought an interesting contrast and a much-needed listening balance. Even though we’re talking about an ensemble with an impressive 80-year tradition and top-tier professionals, I couldn’t help but wonder how difficult and challenging it actually is to bring everything into a cohesive whole, when you have an orchestra of symphonic proportions at your disposal. And on top of that—eight pieces by eight different composers on a single album.

That’s why I found it particularly interesting to talk about this release with conductor Miho Hazama, who has been on a remarkable rise in recent years and has also been one of the orchestra’s regular guest conductors for some time now. She composed one of the tracks, while the other contributors featured on the album include Vince Mendoza, Donny McCaslin, Tineke Postma, Mark Guiliana, Shai Maestro, Louis Cole, and Morris Kliphuis. We also briefly touch on her new album “Frames”, which will be released on Edition Records on April 24.

On the new Metropole Orchestra album, eight different composers are represented, and several compositions have credited arrangers. You are the composer of one track, but the conductor for the entire project. Could you describe your process of working on material that involves so many creators, as well as a large ensemble of instrumentalists?

Before being a conductor, I was a part of producer-team to make sure that we get together a collection of music that could be an album together. On behalf of Metropole Orkest, we commissioned a piece to the composers, but we didn’t have any specific request to each person, so we didn’t know what piece we were going to have until we took a look at scores! Making a decision of which pieces we are going to put together as an album was a long, yet very important process of the producer team.

Then as a conductor — I already knew which pieces to conduct! So, studying the music was easy and comfortable. But as rehearsal went on, I discovered so many new aspects of the amazing compositions we had. The music inspired me (my brain as composer part!), so that I could suggest some balance issues or form (drama-making) issues as a conductor. It was a phenomenal experience.

I still get goosebumps conducting “Arakatak”. This piece has so much depth that I can dig in and in!

You have been working with the Metropole Orchestra for several years. What was special for you about this particular project and album?

It was special that I got to conduct compositions by my heroes!

Also, I have been a big fan of Vince Mendoza since I was in high school. Conducting Vince Mendoza’s piece is so magical. I want to study as much as possible, and his composition still sounds like magic to me.

You have extensive experience with big bands of various sizes. What is specific about working with the Metropole Orchestra, considering its scale?

MO’s strength is groove. Everyone can groove. It is usually tough or unfamiliar for strings, harp, classical percussionists to groove - because they are not used to this approach. This orchestra - every single person - can swing and groove!

When discussing influences and musicians who have shaped your work, Jim McNeely (with whom you studied) and Maria Schneider, probably the greatest living jazz conductor, are invariably mentioned. How did they help you form your jazz style and find your own voice?

I studied with Jim McNeely for two years in master’s degree at Manhattan School of Music. Although I was the only student who didn’t have a bachelor’s degree in jazz major before coming to the school, the compositional process Jim taught me was very similar with what I learned from classical music college in Tokyo. That helped a lot. I didn’t have to “improvise” and come up with compositional ideas right away, but spent A LOT OF TIME to sketch, think, get ideas together, and write on scores. “Every note has to have a meaning.” This used to be a motto of my classical composition professor, and it was technically same with Jim. It was very inspiring to see his crazy sketches, ideas and explanations of his works. It was also really meaningful to observe how he made his career, too.

Other heroes, such as Maria, Vince, Gil Goldstein and Mike Holober — I mainly studied their scores. I haven’t really had specific lessons with them.

You come from Japan, live and work in New York, but are increasingly collaborating with European orchestras. How similar—or different—is it to work with big bands in the U.S. versus Europe?

NYC is a distinctive city not only in the US, but in the world. I’ve never seen a city with such high competition for jazz musicians! People in this city also have incredible energy, passion and intensity. I personally can’t keep living in this city for consecutive 5 months, or I would get crazy (haha). I appreciate that energy/pressure, but that’s too intense to keep getting into my life.

Having said that, musicians in NYC are very talented, cool and very practical (rational). They need a conclusion/decision right away, and I have to be clear with my opinion. There is only YES or NO.

On the other hand, European bands need discussions. This doesn’t necessarily mean that you need a conclusion right away. I can’t be that intense in front of European bands, but I would need a lot more time to rehearse.

Your new album “Frames” with the Danish Radio Big Band will be released soon. You’ve mentioned that “This project reflects on the legacy of the Danish Radio Big Band and its former chief conductors, whose musical language has shaped generations of composers and musicians.” What in the history of the Danish Radio Big Band is particularly appealing to you?

Denmark has a very rich jazz history from 1960’s. And I have a privilege to work with the Danish radio big band, who is a good part of the Danish jazz history. A lot of amazing guest artists have played with the band, and amazing people have led the band. They have a fabulous collection of music that is dedicated to them. Learning their musical heritage became a big encouragement and inspiration to me. At the same time, I obviously didn’t want to copy-and-paste the past. So, I studied compositions/music repertoires from 7 former chief conductors of the band and took a time to experiment materials till I “digest” these as a part of my musical language.

I hope the listeners can feel essence of our legacy, but something fresh, too. The other big concept of this album is “unconditional love” - as we love each other, we love music, we lost loved one (Jim McNeely) right before our recording, and we shared so many emotions together. I hope you are going to hear the love we have.

More interviews on Eurojazzist.com:

Ever since I first heard Daniel Erdmann in concert with Das Kapital in 2011, I’ve been in love with the way he plays the saxophone. I experienced him as one of those musicians who bring humor into jazz in a lucid, effortless way. Like, for example, John Lurie in his The Lounge Lizards, or Steven Bernstein in SexMob. With all of them, there’s a kind of special magic: the ability to sound at once like the most virtuosic jazz musicians in the history of this music, while also infusing their expression with a love for popular music in the broadest sense—from cabaret and chanson, to film music, rock, punk, and beyond. The end result often feels uncanny, to the point where you wonder whether you’re hearing postmodern jazz, an arrangement-based deconstruction in an ironic key, or a sincere homage to “beautiful music” that contrasts with the complexity of their artistic identities. Or all of the above. It’s precisely in that listener’s sense of disorientation—the loss of firm ground—that their magic and allure reside, as much as in everything they are capable of when playing the music they love.

What I came to love in Erdmann is his specific, instantly recognizable sound—a combination of classical jazz saxophone virtuosity and something that evokes early rock and soul, or the kind of reeds sound one might imagine in a television late-night show band. This was striking in all the bands of his that I’ve heard, from the aforementioned Das Kapital, to Velvet Revolution, with whom he also performed in Pančevo (the city where I live today), or his current Thérapie de Couple, which I saw three years ago at the jazzahead! festival in Bremen.

At that concert, he presented a “conceptual” band built around French-German relations, where half of the ensemble came from France (Hélène Duret – clarinet, bass clarinet; Théo Ceccaldi – violin; Vincent Courtois – cello) and the other half from Germany (Daniel Erdmann – saxophone; Robert Lucaciu – double bass; Eva Klesse – drums). Even the band’s name, Thérapie de Couple—again, a reference to the relationship between two neighboring countries—highlights Erdmann’s playful artistic vision, further developed through the choice of compositions and their titles, all engaging with this complex historical relationship.

Three years later came the album „I Wanna Hold Your Hand, François“, released by BMC Records, which sounds just as rich as the concert I saw back then. But that richness doesn’t reveal itself immediately—it unfolds through repeated listening, gradually exposing both the layered nature of the ensemble and arrangements, and Erdmann’s desire to allow each musician to shine in the best possible way.

OK, but what does this mean in practice?

The shortest track lasts two and a half minutes, the longest just over seven. By jazz standards, these aren’t particularly extended forms, so one might assume they are compact and “catchy” for potential listeners. Some certainly are—but many unfold quite gradually, almost unhurriedly, as if Erdmann has all the time in the world to win over the listener. We hear this in the opening “Fattal Attraction,” with its long intro, or in “Muskatnuss, Herr Müller,” patiently opened by a double bass solo. Elsewhere, there are compositions whose full melodic potential only reveals itself toward the end, as in the beautiful “Romy.” And then there are miniatures like “On the Road to Werdun” or “Eva in Paris,” which feel like parts of a larger suite while still retaining their own autonomy. Their brevity doesn’t give them the feel of radio singles; rather, they come across as pieces of a more intricate puzzle.

When I mentioned that “each musician is given space,” I was referring to a certain democratic distribution of solo sections, as well as the impression that Erdmann himself doesn’t feel the need to foreground his own playing. As a long-time fan of Théo Ceccaldi, I was, of course, most thrilled by his solos—but everyone has at least a few memorable moments. Take Hélène Duret, who is an absolute star in “Zwei Seelen wohnen ach in meiner Brust”, where she seamlessly move from relaxed swing into free improvisation, while elsewhere she makes other outstanding contributions on clarinet and bass clarinet.

Finally, there are those “simple beautiful songs” such as “Göttingen,” a composition with a particularly telling historical context—performed originaly by singer Barbara in both French and German, and described as “a hymn to Franco-German reconciliation”—or the more recent “Je ne parle pas Français,” originally sung by Namika. In Thérapie de Couple’s interpretations, both carry a strong cabaret-chanson character and a certain patina—another of Erdmann’s recognizable signatures.

Does this combination—on the one hand complex, on the other deeply emotional music—consciously evoke the intricate relationships of couples in therapy, as the album title suggests? A situation that is anything but black and white, instead winding through a web of emotions, thoughts, relationships, passions, and intellectual clashes? If Erdmann intended to convey this complexity—human, historical, and beyond—through the music on this album, he has, at least for me, completely succeeded.

More album reviews on Eurojazzist:

Over the past few weeks, together with my dear editors from Radio Belgrade – Ivana Neimarević and Ksenija Stevanović – I’ve been working on planning the new concert season at the renowned Studio 6 of Radio Belgrade. In fact, this work began toward the end of last year, when we held a meeting at the Austrian Cultural Forum in Belgrade and applied for funding for the 2026 season. On that occasion, we proposed inviting the Austrian HAEZZ Trio to perform in Belgrade, featuring saxophonist Štěpán Flagar, trumpeter Martin Eberle, and double bassist Tobias Vedovelli.

I saw them live in early 2024 at the 3 Tages Jazz festival in Saalfelden and thoroughly enjoyed their concert. When I later noticed their name on the NASOM list for the 2025/2026 cycle (New Austrian Sound of Music – a sponsorship program funded by the Austrian government), I knew there was a good chance we could secure the budget and bring them to Belgrade. That’s exactly what happened – a few weeks ago we received official approval, and we’ve scheduled their concert at Studio 6 for June 10.

I’ll certainly be writing about the HAEZZ a few more times as the concert approaches. For now, I’d like to focus on trumpeter Martin Eberle, who has been very much on my radar lately. In last week’s Randomizer, I wrote about András Dés’s album Decisions We Make, where Eberle is the trumpeter and contributes significantly to the overall quality with his sound. The same applies to HAEZZ, where the full range of his playing really comes into its own.

If I had to give a quick reference point for his musical approach, I’d call him a “European Dave Douglas.” This doesn’t necessarily mean that Eberle plays in the same style, but rather that he evokes a similar emotional response in me as Douglas does. What I appreciate about Eberle – as with Douglas – is that his playing is complex and diverse, yet never excessive. It’s engaging enough to draw my attention specifically to his lines, but always perfectly integrated into the broader musical context. There’s also a fine balance in his playing between the complexity of his trumpet lines and their emotional charge.

When I listen to Eberle, I can’t point to a single defining trait – no particular trick or signature phrase. Instead, what makes him exciting is his multi-layered approach, which allows him to remain compelling across different settings. This is especially true in more intimate ensembles like the HAEZZ Trio, where the trumpet sound has room to fully emerge. Here’s one highlight from 3 Tage Jazz that I recorded on my phone from the second row:

This week, another trumpeter caught my attention – Dave Adewumi, who released his debut album The Flame Beneath the Silence a few weeks ago. Although he’s a young musician, it’s fair to say he was well prepared for his recording debut. Among other things, he has already played with Jason Moran and Dave Douglas on their albums, and this year we’ll see him on tour with Mary Halvorson in her new band Canis Major.

So, he has already gained significant experience alongside some of the leading American musicians of today, and it’s no surprise that his debut features a top-tier lineup – none other than Joel Ross, Linda May Han Oh, and Marcus Gilmore. After a few listens, my impression is that Adewumi could have a similar impact on the scene as Ambrose Akinmusire did some fifteen years ago.

It’s that kind of talent – a captivating player who raises the intensity of the music simply through his presence. In this quartet, it feels like a particularly good choice to collaborate with Ross, whose warm tonal palette provides balance to the overall sound; adding more horns would likely have been too much. In any case, after a few listens, The Flame Beneath the Silence already feels like one of the most interesting jazz albums of the year, once everything is said and done.

Jazz Across Europe

Last year, Hans Falb – founder and director of the Konfrontationen festival in the small Austrian town of Nickelsdorf – passed away. The festival ran for 45 years and was one of the most exciting events dedicated to free jazz and improvised music in Europe. As is often the case when a festival is driven by the immense enthusiasm of a single individual, there was concern within the community about what would happen next. Would the festival continue at all? A few days ago, a social media announcement confirmed that there will at least be a program this year. I’m sure it will be outstanding, as always.

In the meantime, Jazz Cerkno has also announced its full program. I previously mentioned that Mary Halvorson will perform there with her band Canis Major (where we’ll also be able to catch the aforementioned Dave Adewumi); now Ingebrigt Håker Flaten has been announced as well, with his magnificent sextet (EXIT) KNARR, along with Cosmic Ear, whom I wrote about back in February and recently in my interview with Goran Kajfeš. There’s plenty more to look forward to, so if you’re free from May 22–24, here’s a strong recommendation.

One of the festival’s guests will also be Fred Frith, a guitar legend whose influence extends far beyond genre boundaries. I’m especially glad that Frith will also be coming to Belgrade this May for the Ring Ring festival, performing solo. His 2005 concert at the same festival is still remembered, and I believe this one will be just as exciting.

Previously on Eurojazzist:

Evi Filippou is having a remarkable year. She has been selected as this year’s artist-in-residence at the prestigious Moers Festival in Germany. She has also been nominated for the Deutscher Jazzpreis in two categories: Drums/Percussionist of the Year, and Live Act of the Year for her performance in the duo Filippou & Lucaciu.

A vibraphonist and percussionist originally from Greece, who has long been living and working in Germany, released a compelling new album this March, Love at Last Sight, on the Hungarian label BMC Records. The album is a duo collaboration with bassist Robert Lucaciu, with whom she has been working and performing for the past three years. This release is also the occasion for the interview you are about to read. It is a record that flows effortlessly and invites deep enjoyment, captivating listeners with its unpretentious character. As we listen, we can imagine being in the rehearsal room with them, or hearing them play just for us and a small group of close friends. Love at Last Sight is an album filled with love, warmth, and a genuine sense of intimacy.

Without further delay, here is my conversation with Evi Filippou.

What do you love about Robert Lucaciu’s playing in general, and what about it specifically in the duo format? Do you remember how you first decided to play as a duo, and what you particularly liked about this reduced sonic setting?

For me Robert is like fifteen musicians in one. Not only is he an incredible bass player, I mean technically he can do anything: sing like a soprano, groove like three old school drummers, resonate like a roaring brass band but he is also very inspired. Endless inspiration at improvisation, never plays it safe, always follows through and always has my back. When we met I kind of have decided for myself to not play any more duos because of how fragile they are - three is a band, two are a duo, you know - but after our first rehearsal I forgot all about that and here we are.

The reduced sonic setting is a challenge which helps us grow. I mean, it’s terrifying most of the time (hahaha). But keeps me on my toes and the limitations push us towards different approaches. I feel like with every rehearsal, with every concert, I learn something really valuable. And of course the more I learn, the less I feel like I know. Robert is the perfect duo partner to explore the unknown with.

On the album, we hear several original compositions as well as a number of arrangements. How did you choose pieces by other composers? Some are well known to the wider jazz audience, such as Geri Allen, while others—like the 20th-century Greek composer Leo Rapitis—might be less familiar.

We practice and try out lots of tunes we like, for fun and to see what works for our setting. What is more fun than learning songs together? This album is a collection of pieces we really like and pieces we composed, the common thread is us.

Do you prefer your arrangements to retain the original substance of a composition, or are you more inclined toward deconstruction?

Depends on the day! Funnily enough we never play the same tune with the same arrangement. We always check in the day of the concert and play accordingly. So some days are very structured and some others we only play the ‘’erased’’ versions.

While listening to the album, I had the impression that the music is being created in the moment, regardless of whether these are your own compositions or covers—as if everything emerged spontaneously. Do you lean more toward an open approach, or do you favor thorough preparation before recording?

Our preparation is to learn the scores and tunes as good as possible and then rediscover them at every gig. Robert always says let the song play, you don’t play the song. And I think that is a lot our approach. There’s a lot of talking about life and art, we listen to a lot of music together, we talk about it, we dream together, we practice sometimes things we will never perform and somehow this is our process.

I absolutely believe in that supernatural power that takes over once we let go of that childlike feeling ‘’I wanna be good’’. Kind of letting go of what we think we know of ourselves and reaching for the sky of what we could be. So prepare and then forget all about it.

Tell us more about the recording itself at the Budapest Music Center. To what extent does the space shape what you play? What is your relationship to specific spaces, and to the idea of spatiality when performing music; especially in small ensembles like this one, do you experience the space as a kind of “musical ally,” or perhaps even as a third instrument within the sonic image?

I think what for me is a game changer in recordings but also in every collaboration is not only the spatial setting but the people. I believe that we take crazy magical risks when we feel safe, appreciated and supported, in life and in music. And BMC was all that and more for us. We felt seen, appreciated, trusted, taken care of and had all the help and assistance to make a great record. People tend to underestimate how important the production and the organization is in projects and recordings.

So I would say the space and the people were our musical ally and I’m so glad it is forever documented in this album.

How did you shape the album with Hayden Chisholm as producer? How do you see his contribution, and what did he bring to the record?

Hayden Chisholm was the first person who I admired that told me in a young age ‘’you can be whatever you wanna be’’ and I know that doesn’t sound like a lot but 15 years ago when I started studying and was experiencing sexism and harassment pretty much everywhere, it was all I needed to start doing my thing. Since then he has been a close friend, a collaborator and someone I would always ask for opinions and advice, because he is a daring artist with a very broad collection of skills and styles and I know nobody else who can do so much so good and deep.

In recording situations I find it rather challenging to be the performer and the outside eye. So it was my idea to ask Hayden to be our outside eye, simply check if the takes are good enough and close enough to our vision or throw any constructive feedback from the control room, which he of course did and it was really helpful. Recording can be a stressful situation so someone with a bit of distance is really helpful. No wonder all the records we like from the past had many producers contributing to the final result.

“I Love the Way You’re Breaking My Heart” is an interesting vocal interlude between instrumental tracks. Why this particular piece? Did you have a specific musical quality in mind, the lyrics, its simple beauty—or something else?

I just love this song and most simple songs, jazz standards or greek folk songs, any folk songs actually from all around the world. They are so similar in a way, for me it’s the unshakeable proof that people all around the wold: we are pretty much the same.

I enjoyed reading Chisholm’s texts about your pieces in the liner notes. How do you perceive your own compositions? Are they, for you, “like a dream,” and do you associate certain compositions—or arrangements of others’ pieces—with specific images or cinematic visions?

I think me and Robert are very different that way. He has studied composition and has a lot of experience in writing music. I have always written what I hear and tried to use my knowledge and what I have learned from analyzing other composers to limit my material and shape as good as possible the feeling or image I want to share. ‘’She dreams’’ for example is simply about a girl dreaming, and ‘’your own’’ about the melancholy in the joy of change.

I love arrangements, because I think it is interesting and funny how we all focus on different things even if we love the same songs. So I focus on what I love and explore that space. For example in the song ‘’alma Mia’’ I love the lyrics to the bone and the rhythm of the language so our whole arrangement is about that prosody. Let the song play you kind of thing.

You live and work in Germany, but you come from Greece. How much has your experience in your home country shaped you musically, and to what extent do you still feel part of that scene? It seems that in recent years the Greek jazz scene has been on the rise, with musicians such as yourself, Tania Gianoulli, Petros Klampanis, Andreas Polyzogopoulos…

I left Greece when I was 18, was barely a person yet so I would say that I became an adult and a professional musician in Germany. I admire all these artists you named and many more but I think it is the German scene and Greek musicians that live abroad like Katerina Fotinaki or Antonis Anissegos that shaped me. Their music and approach, completely different but equally influential to me, has opened pathways to my brain.

Still Greece is the country of my childhood and my parents loved Greek music, art poetry and literature so of course it has left a strong mark in me, I mean for me composition is like traveling back to childhood and shedding light to the feelings of joy or darkness. It is something that has do with my family my ancestors, my teachers and telling stories about them. I feel like I carry them all, dead or alive in everything I do. They, their memory and what I think they were, shapes me and the perception of them keeps changing and evolving with time. Wild, isn’t it?

What are your most important current projects besides the duo? What draws you to working with larger ensembles, and how do you approach composition and arranging in that context?

Filippou & Lucaciu and inEvitable are my darlings at the moment. I also enjoy working with Andromeda Mega Express Orchestra a lot because I love being a percussionist. I love large ensembles because first of all the more the merrier, and I come from a classical education where orchestra was the hippest thing. So an orchestra where the percussionist has a lot more to do sounds like a dream to me.

I think the energy that large ensembles and orchestras can create could actually change the world.

Composing for inEvitable extended, my large ensemble so to say, is at the moment about reducing the information to its core and let the incredible players that I am honored to call my bandmates (shout out to Keisuke Matsuno, Arne Braun, Marius Wankel, Zuza Jasinska, Robert Lucaciu, Julius Gawlik, Jim Hart, Tim Hagans) fly high. I go with Mary Oliver’s ‘’always leave some room for the unimaginable’’.